Training Harry

by Meghan Namaste

  “Hi,” Maggie said brightly, looking quite pleased with herself.

  “Hi yourself,” I said back.

  Erica just looked at her a minute, before bursting out with “What the hell were you thinking?!”

  Maggie just blinked at her. “You shouldn’t say ‘hell’,” she said innocently, sidestepping the actual question pressed on her.

  “This from the girl who was raised on HBO,” Erica snipped. “This is serious, Maggie. I cannot believe you would do something like this. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

  “People ride horses on roads all the time!” Maggie protested. “I was bored just riding in the ring. I wanted to try it. And I wasn’t galloping through traffic, or being stupid.” Maggie glared up at her trainer. “I knew Twinkle could do it, and he did.”

  Erica stared for a minute, and then sighed. “Okay. I understand why you did it. And clearly you were lucky. You and Twinkle both seem to be unharmed.” She left my side and walked down the steps to Maggie’s level. “I just would have liked you to discuss this with me beforehand. It’s best to start slowly, with short rides at first because Twinkle isn’t used to it. Ten miles on the roads is a little much to start off with, even though I know you have a great bond and you clearly trust each other very much. That’s why I was upset.”

  Maggie nodded seriously. “I’m sorry, Erica. I didn’t really think of that.” She looked back at Twinkle. “Do you think it hurt him?”

  “I think he’s okay, but I’ll make sure of it.” I left the porch and came up alongside Twinkle. “Hey, little guy.” The pony looked at me with his big, dark eyes. He seemed calm now, but his chest, neck and shoulders were darkened and sticky with nervous sweat from his adventure. He was a fine pony, a well built, incredibly elegant little creature. I felt all down his legs, sliding my hand over the solid joints and hard tendons. His legs were clean, free of blemishes, heat and swelling. “I don’t feel anything, but can you jog him for me?”

  Maggie nodded, taking the reins over his head. She clucked to Twinkle and took off running, and he trotted along with her. She circled back a few times before stopping in front of me.

  “He’s sound,” I told her happily. “He might be a little sore the next few days, so just do light work until his muscles recover. But he’ll be fine.”

  Maggie looked relieved. “I think I’ll take his saddle off and walk him,” she said, undoing the girth. “He’s really sweaty.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Erica said. “I’ll see if I can find a halter that fits him.” She went off to the barn.

  I stayed with Maggie and Twinkle. “That’s pretty remarkable that he did that for you,” I told her. “Was he afraid of anything you saw?”

  “He was really brave,” Maggie said fondly. “He didn’t really like being by the road so I had to use a lot of leg to keep him there. But he didn’t really spook much.” She patted his shoulder. “He didn’t like the chickens, though.”

  “Ah,” I said. Erica came back from the barn, carrying a halter. “I’ll see if I can adjust this down enough.” Maggie removed Twinkle’s bridle, and Erica put the halter on. “It’s a bit roomy, but it’ll work.”

  I was still curious about something. “How did you find your way here?” I asked Maggie.

  “Oh, I planned the route ahead of time with Google maps,” Maggie said proudly. “I only had to ride four miles on the highway.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Erica said. She looked like she was developing a migraine. “Go take Twinkle for a walk. Let him graze some of the time.”

  “Okay!” Maggie skipped off, dragging Twinkle behind her. I chuckled.

  Erica stood there, deep breathing. Suddenly her eyes snapped open. “Maggie!”

  “What?”

  “Does your mother know where you are?”

  “No!” Maggie yelled. “If I’d told her, she wouldn’ta let me go!”

  Erica whipped out her cell phone, dialing quickly as I stood there watching. Soon she started speaking. “Mrs. Allsteen. Yes, I know. Maggie - Maggie is - MAGGIE IS HERE. Yes. Maggie is here. She is fine. She…she rode Twinkle here.” Erica held the phone away from her ear, cringing a little. “Yes, I agree. Very dangerous. Yes. No, I never encouraged her to do this. I don’t know where she got this idea. Yes, sometimes children do reckless things. No, it is not your fault. You’re a great parent, Mrs. Allsteen.” Erica caught my eye and shook her head, making a slashing motion with her free hand. “Okay…yes, I understand. Of course. You do what you need to do. Maggie can stay with me. And I will see to it that she is punished for her actions.”

  Erica hung up, and her eyes swept around. I looked at her expectantly. Maggie, who’d wandered back over with Twinkle during the conversation, looked at her much the same.

  “So? What’d she say?” Maggie demanded. “Is she mad?”

  Erica slowly turned to look at Maggie. “Your mother is in shock. She has never been so affrighted. You have affrighted her almost beyond what her poor heart can take.” Erica smiled slightly. “She cannot even set eyes on you right now. So she is taking a spa day in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves. You will be staying here until such a time as she is ready to resume her matriarchal duties. And the story is that you are being punished. So be sure to tell her how awful it was.”

  “I will.” Maggie nodded her head vigorously.

  “I know exactly how you can be punished,” I said with a smile. “There’s an entire barn full of stalls that haven’t been cleaned yet. And after that, you can clean out the paddocks.”

  “Yes!” Maggie punched the air, startling Twinkle. She stroked him apologetically.

  “Now go walk that pony.” I gave her a wink, and she led Twinkle through the yard, grinning the whole way.

  Marla

  I held up my phone, and dialed. I’d done it so many times in my head, in so many fantasies. I had thought about it so much, and now I’d really done it. Now the phone was ringing in my head, each little brrriiiing ratcheting up my pulse, shooting more and more blood through my veins until I was stiff, poised and dangerously wound up.

  I listened raptly for the click, and the silenced or absent ring that would be followed by a voice, recorded or live and in the flesh. I leaned forward, ridiculously clutching the edge of my seat. I needed to hear that voice.

  I thought my heart would blow up from the strain, and then there was a ring that ended prematurely. The slightest beat of white noise. “Marla. Hey.”

  A sigh blew from my lips. “Lawrence.” I relished the feel of his name on my tongue. “I’m so glad I could reach you. I feel so badly about how I ended things.” I paused, feeling for this foreign sentiment I was trying to express. “I’m sorry I was so harsh. I should never have said those things to you, or accused you of anything. You never did anything wrong.” I was speaking quickly, rushing, not in control at all. “I mean, we never said we were exclusive. It was a fling! You had every right to see other people. I overreacted.” I dug the phone into the curled flesh of my ear, desperate for him to understand. “I know the things I said must have hurt you, and I’m very sorry if they did.”

  “That’s okay, Marla,” Lawrence said cheerfully.

  Cheerfully?

  That’s okay, Marla?

  “But…” I started again, gulping air as effectively as a beached trout. “But I was horrible to you! I said all those nasty things! It was awful!”

  “It’s okay, Marla,” Lawrence said, almost amused. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t even remember what you said, so obviously it wasn’t that bad.”

  All the excitement had gone out of me, and I was a deflated mess. What?

  “H-how are you doing?” I managed, keeping the conversation going by a mere thread.

  “I’m fine, Marla,” he said. “I’m great. I’m excellent.” He sounded like he was beaming. Somehow I could just tell. “Actually, I’ve gotta go, but it was great to hear from you.”

  “Okay,” I said weakly. “Take care.”

 
“You too,” he said warmly, and he hung up.

  I sat there with the phone against my ear, deeply confused, hurt, and somehow even more restless.

  Lawrence

  Dust hung in the air. I could smell the old hay and dried manure as I walked between the pens. Dull-eyed horses looked at me and through me.

  I wasn’t looking for anything, really. I knew I should stay away from the auction. I could not be trusted. My purchase of Maude had proven that without a doubt. But my hands had cranked the wheel each time I had a choice, and I had ended up here. And once here, I walked right into it, striding down the aisle ways, ducking into far corners, my eyes ticking back and forth. I kept moving as I looked, quickly eliminating possibilities. Nothing had made me stop walking yet.

  I was looking for the same thing as always. Potential. Something with the build I like, the athleticism. Something quick on its feet. But mostly I was looking for something with drive. It didn’t matter if that drive had turned into rage. If the animal flung itself into the bars of the pen to try and attack me, if the horse lunged, snapped or reared, I moved closer, drawn in by the hostility, the fury. Because I knew there was drive in there, and if I could turn the horse around and get that drive working for me, it could be more powerful than the happy obedience of a horse that had never been treated wrongly.

  Walking through the sales barn, I didn’t see anything that raised my adrenaline. There were some nice horses, Paints and Quarter Horses mostly. Easy, pretty, uncomplicated horses. There was also a pen full of stunted and rough-coated grades, the product of careless breeding, unremarkable in every way and probably untrained. Small eyes in muddy colored faces peered at me, and I quickly looked away before I could succumb to the twinges in my chest. Those horses were almost certainly going to slaughter.

  Moving on through the pens, my eyes focused on a bay Thoroughbred. He was small and dead quiet, so lethargic I suspected drugging or illness. I moved closer anyway. The gelding’s eye twitched, seeing me. He was in fine weight with a slick, healthy hair coat. His mane had been pulled to braiding length. And he stood absolutely motionless. Hiding in plain sight, I immediately thought.

  Inside a plastic sleeve taped to the top bar of the pen, there was a glossy eight by ten of the horse being ridden by a tall grey-haired woman. He was in dressage tack with white polos on all four legs. She held him in a tight dressage frame, his nose tucked close to his chest, hind legs mincing, strung out behind him.

  I took a closer look at the gelding. His back muscles had sunk and atrophied in the shape of the saddle. His sides were all scuffed up, covered with spur marks and even deeper scars.

  I slid the photo aside, frowning in concentration. I located a set of Jockey Club papers, which I quickly scanned. The horse’s registered name was Trucker Hat.

  Something fired in the back of my brain. I found myself frantically grasping for my cell phone. I dialed Erica and listened to it ring. Pick up. C’mon.

  It went to voicemail. I flipped the phone shut and stuffed it back in my pocket. There wasn’t time to screw around. I took one more look at the horse, the picture and then I hurried to the auction ring.

  The gelding came up early in the bidding. He was billed as a Second Level dressage horse, with showing accomplishments, but he was led through the auction ring instead of being ridden. The lady who walked him through seemed to be trying very hard to keep him going without causing a scene.

  I let naïve individuals and killer buyers bid him up, and when they all reached their limit I raised my hand.

  Erica

  Lawrence’s rig clattered into the yard. I looked up from the bucket I was filling and quickly shut off the hose.

  Lawrence came toward me, and I met him halfway. His face was at once optimistic and grim.

  “Hey,” I said. “How was the sale?”

  He smiled guardedly. “I brought you something,” he said.

  Excitedly I followed him to the rear of the trailer. He dropped the ramp, and I stood back, almost nervous. It took a minute, but then I heard hoof beats slowly echoing inside the trailer. Lawrence appeared, easing down the ramp with a light hold on the lead. Gradually the horse appeared.

  My hand flew up to my face, and I almost choked on raw emotion. “Trucker,” I said weakly. Almost immediately my eyes filled with tears.

  I ran up to him without thinking, and he shied without moving, fear just rippling through his body. I stopped where I was and just looked at him.

  Trucker had grown to fear humans, but he wore his fear differently. He didn’t know how to run or bite or fight back. He was too kind. So instead of leaping, thrashing in a panic, he simply shut down. He went away from it all in his head and just stood there. His sides told everything. The missing hair, the closed off holes that had been gouged out of him. Long, thin cuts that had healed over, too. Whip marks. I wanted to just go into the fetal position and sob.

  He must’ve reached a point where he could take it no more. There was no reason to go forward, never even a caress or a release of pressure. The pressure was always on, so eventually he just stopped and would not move. And they kicked and shouted and beat him, because they could. Because they knew he would never hurt them. They knew his nature, and they exploited it. They took a good, honest horse and ruined him.

  I took a tentative step toward Trucker. “It’s okay,” I said softly. I reached out to him.

  Anxiety flared in Trucker’s listless eyes. He braced, almost leaning away from my outstretched hand. I stumbled backward, crying out, shoving a hand over my mouth and trying to hold it together.

  Lawrence stared at me, and I could read the concern in his eyes. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m just gonna turn him out so he can relax.” He took a step toward the paddocks. “He’ll be alright, okay?”

  I nodded, and he turned and led Trucker away. I stood there sniffling, drowning in tears and mucous. I felt completely powerless, even more so than before.

  When I reached out to Trucker, I saw the look in his eye. His stare, his visceral reaction to me was absolutely heartbreaking. He followed Lawrence, but I couldn’t even touch him. It was like he knew I did this to him. I would never mention that to Lawrence, but I was sure he remembered me, and somehow he knew I was responsible.

  Lawrence came back to me quickly. I knew I looked like hell and I didn’t care. He buried me in his arms, holding me through the release of all my pain. “It’s okay,” he repeated softly. “We’ve got him now. He’ll be okay.”

  When I could talk again, I lifted my face slightly. “Thank you for saving him,” I said thickly. “What a wonderful gift.” I tried to smile, took a rattling breath. “It’s just…”

  “I know.” Lawrence silenced me, rubbing my back soothingly. “I know.”

  Lawrence

  I parked illegally in the LPC lot and started up the blacktop toward the stable. The air was a little sharp and the sun was trying to break through a bright white sky. I pulled my coat a bit tighter around myself and kept walking, aiming for the barn door.

  Before I could get inside, I heard voices and in the next moment Arnold Windzor strolled out of the barn. There was a girl with him. No, two girls. Both young and unnaturally blonde. I moved aside, head lowered, allowing Arnold to pretend he hadn’t seen me. It was the decent thing to do, really.

  But he didn’t go along with it. “Cavanaugh!” Arnold boomed, like I’d just made his day.

  I jerked my head up, deeply startled. He made his way over to me, grinning and cheerful as hell.

  “Uh, hello, sir,” I mumbled awkwardly.

  “None of that, my good man, none of that,” Arnold said. “Call me Arnold.” He shook my hand heartily. My arm was a dead weight.

  “Uh, okay,” I said, trying to be agreeable. I screwed your wife, Arnold. I took your money. Don’t you remember? It’s one thing to forgive and forget, but Arnold was acting like we were best buddies. This exchange was socially awkward, even by my liberal standards.

  My eyes moved from Arnold’s
smiling face to the two girls who were now hanging on him. They seemed to be having a contest to see who could press more of herself against him. I looked away. This was all a bit much.

  Arnold just stood there grinning, sandwiched as he was between two twentysomethings. “I’ve never been happier,” he proudly proclaimed. “I have a new lease on life, Cavanaugh. And it’s all thanks to you.”

  I stared. Is he serious? He was serious.

  “I think it’s time to take you home,” Blonde Number One piped up. She used a baby voice. Blonde Number Two grasped his arm, and together they steered him away.

  I stood there a second, and then I shook myself and took off for the stable.

  I found Wilson in the storage shed, hiding, I suspected, from Arnold. When I pulled the door open he looked at me in fear then relief. “Cavanaugh.” He nodded a warm hello. “What are you doing here?”

  “Actually, I came to talk to you.” I paused. “It’s about Barbara.”

  Wilson’s emotions flashed across his face like a scroller. He looked at me with guarded eyes but he didn’t try to run.

  For a long time, I didn’t get it. I had no idea what Wilson went through. But now I did. I knew that crippling, paralyzing fear. It was like nothing else. It was a deeper, more agonizing fear and it was almost impossible to get through. I also knew what it was like when you got past it.

  I looked into Wilson’s eyes. “I understand,” I said.

  Wilson looked back at me, and I saw a slow change in his face. We looked at each other, and without having to say anything more I left.

  Erica

  Bills in my hand, I sat at the window and tried to concentrate on bookkeeping. My mind wouldn’t focus and I wanted to be outside doing something. I wound up mostly just watching Trucker. I wanted to see him getting better, and I knew it was too soon for that but I just wanted him to be okay.