Taking the Leap

by Suzanne Weyn

  Shoulders back, chin up, heels down, toes up, lean forward, crest release, lean back … The words ran through her mind like a meditative chant. Before she knew it, it was time to enter the show ring.

  “Advanced Over Fences is on deck. Number 303 will be entering the ring first,” the announcer called out over the loudspeaker.

  Taylor picked out Mercedes and Plum in the crowd and rode up behind them.

  “Number 303, that’s you, Plum,” Taylor said, looking at Plum’s back, where her number was pinned.

  “Duh, thanks for the update,” Plum responded flatly, not bothering to look at Taylor.

  Taylor stuck her tongue out and made a sneering face at Plum’s back, putting her gloved hands up to her helmet and wiggling them … Plum began to turn her head, causing Taylor to drop her hands and look at something decidedly interesting to her side.

  The last rider for the previous class exited the ring, and members of the event staff, including Daphne, rushed in to raise the jump rails a few pegs. Taylor gulped at the new height of the jumps and glanced over at Mercedes. Mercedes sat on top of Monty, looking focused and unbothered by the bustle around her.

  “Number 303 now entering the ring,” the loudspeakers boomed out. Plum tucked her chin and kicked Shafir into a trot, gliding smoothly into the ring.

  The crowd watched as Plum directed Shafir through the set of jumps. Riding crop in hand, she cracked Shafir behind her heel, sending the chestnut horse flying forward over a particularly high jump. All of her practice seemed to be proving worthwhile, even if she wasn’t a particularly gentle rider. Quick and fluid over the jumps, Taylor couldn’t help but be impressed with Plum and Shafir.

  “Number 650 is up next, number 518 is on deck,” the announcer dictated.

  Taylor stretched to get a glimpse of Mercedes’ number. A bold black 518 shone from the number card on her back. Taylor began to nudge Prince Albert forward so that she could go say something to her, but it was just a reflex. Remembering their last encounter, Taylor thought better of it and stayed where she was.

  A boy on a large buckskin horse was next, number 650. Taylor watched as they raced around the ring, leaping over fences. As the duo approached the last set of jumps, a cross rail to a vertical bounce, the buckskin ducked away from the cross rail, and with a collective gasp from the crowd, the rider went tumbling off the horse’s side and crashing into the jump. The buckskin, now free, trotted back to the gate without a rider.

  Taylor stood up in her saddle to get a better view of the boy who had fallen. Thankfully, he pulled himself up from the jump, and aside from looking slightly dazed and embarrassed, seemed to be fine. He chased down his horse and got back on, finishing the course and exiting without looking anyone in the eye.

  “Penalty,” stated the announcer, adding further insult to injury. “Next up is number 518, on deck is number 845.”

  Taylor recognized her own number, 845. She took a deep breath and left the larger group, following Mercedes toward the gate.

  On an impulse, she called out, “Hey, Mercedes.”

  Mercedes turned around, one eyebrow raised in a questioning manner.

  “Good luck,” Taylor said.

  The corners of Mercedes’ lips tugged into a slight smile, her face softening a bit. “You, too,” she replied.

  “Number 518 now entering the ring,” the speakers boomed forth.

  Mercedes nudged Monty into a trot as she rode into the ring. Picking up a canter for her courtesy circle, she eased the horse gently from the entry and through the jump course. Taylor marveled at how natural and at ease Mercedes looked in the show ring, as if she had been doing it her whole life. Maybe she had, Taylor realized, up until she’d lost Monty.

  Monty sailed with ease over the last set of jumps, and finally the bounce. Taylor exhaled, thankful that her Wildwood coworker hadn’t suffered the same fate as the previous rider. The habit of having friendly thoughts toward Mercedes and wishing her well was still with Taylor apparently, no matter how angry Mercedes had made her.

  Mercedes exited the ring, giving Taylor an encouraging smile as she passed by.

  The announcer boomed out, “Now entering the ring is number 845, on deck is number 113.”

  Taylor thumped Prince Albert on the neck, “C’mon boy, let’s rock this.”

  His ears perked, Prince Albert nickered as they entered the ring, as if to say, “Everyone watch and learn!”

  Taylor, picking up the canter for their courtesy circle, set her eyes on the first jump. They headed toward the cross rail and cleared it without a problem. Eyes trained on her next jump, she turned the corner, and Prince Albert flew over the vertical. The next few jumps went just as smoothly.

  As they approached the final set of jumps, the bounce where the boy had fallen, Taylor took a deep breath. She urged Prince Albert into a powerful yet collected canter. They popped up over the first jump, landed, and then lifted upward and over the second jump.

  Breathing hard, and thankful they had cleared the jumps, Taylor left the ring and walked Prince Albert back to the large group she had been in before. She looked around and tried to catch Mercedes’ eye, but Mercedes was staring straight ahead, back straight, waiting for the other riders to finish and the places to be called. Plum, on the other hand, had taken off her black gloves and was fidgeting with her nails.

  As the last few riders finished their course, the tension rose again. It was as though each competitor was holding his or her breath, as if no one in the group was even moving.

  “We now have our placing for the Advanced Over Fences class,” the announcer said, “with the winner receiving ten free lessons with Ross River Ranch’s very own Keith Hobbes.”

  Taylor glanced over to Keith, who smiled and gave a polite wave to the crowd. Daphne stood next to him, holding the ribbons. She grinned over at Taylor, mouthing “Good job!” to her.

  Taylor gave Daphne a thumbs-up and mouthed “Thanks!” back to her.

  “In sixth place, we have number 184.”

  Daphne strode forward, handing a green ribbon to a girl on a palomino horse.

  “In fifth place, we have number 113.”

  Daphne continued en route to a different girl, this one on a dark bay horse, and gave her the pink fifth-place ribbon.

  “In fourth place, we have number 845.”

  Taylor, surprised that she felt truly proud instead of disappointed, smiled as Daphne came up to her, handing her a white ribbon.

  “Congrats!” Daphne said, patting Prince Albert on the neck.

  “Thanks! It’s not first, but that’s okay,” said Taylor, looking at her new ribbon.

  “Hey, it’s not last, either! Well done,” Daphne said before returning to the center of the ring.

  “In third, we have number 303.”

  Taylor’s eyes darted to Plum, who had a smug expression on her face as she accepted the yellow third-place ribbon. Oh, well, Taylor thought. Next time.

  “In second, we have number 788.”

  Daphne strode over, hooking a red ribbon on a black horse’s bridle and extending her congratulations.

  “And, finally,” the announcer said, making a dramatic pause, “winning first place and ten free lessons with Keith Hobbes is …”

  Taylor looked around quickly. Mercedes and four other riders were left. It could be any of them!

  “Number 518!”

  The crowd applauded as Daphne gave a small jump of excitement and headed over to Mercedes. Mercedes thumped Monty on the neck and then pumped her fist in the air.

  Daphne handed her the large blue ribbon. Mercedes reached forward and hooked the ribbon on the cheek piece of Monty’s bridle.

  Her relationship with Mercedes had been rocky, but Taylor couldn’t help feeling proud for her fellow Wildwood Stables rider. She clapped enthusiastically with everyone else as Mercedes waved to the crowd.

  As the riders dispersed, Daphne walked back over toward Taylor. “Just between you and me,” Daphne said, leaning in close
, “Keith and I both think you rode better than Plum.”

  “Then why did she beat me?” Taylor asked, looking over to Plum, who had stuck her ribbon into Shafir’s forelock and was making kissy noises at the horse.

  Daphne shrugged. “A lot of classes are up to the judge’s opinion. It’s sort of like gymnastics or figure skating — one judge may like one style of riding, whereas a different judge may like another.”

  “True. Oh, well, at least someone from Wildwood won first again. It shows that we’re a force to be reckoned with!” Taylor said proudly.

  Just then, a whirring noise made Taylor look to her other side. Jim LeFleur was heading over toward where she and Daphne stood talking.

  “Great work, kid!” Jim said, smiling proudly up at Taylor.

  “Thanks!” she replied, looking back at the jump course she had just completed. “You know, I’m proud I even entered.”

  “As you should be!” said Jim. “In the words of a fellow rider, John Wayne, ‘Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.’ ”

  Taylor laughed. “Good quote! I like it.”

  Looking back to where Jim had just come from, Taylor saw Mrs. LeFleur walking up to talk to her riders and congratulate them. The Wildwood owner stopped in her tracks, though, locking eyes with Jim. Taylor looked back and forth between the two, wondering again what exactly it was that had occurred between them so long ago that made them still act this way.

  Mrs. LeFleur looked at Taylor, turned, and strode back the way she came. Daphne glanced at Taylor with a worried look, then left and headed toward Mercedes, who was talking to Keith Hobbes at the other end of the ring.

  Brow furrowed, Taylor glanced back to Jim.

  “Jim, can I ask you a question?” Taylor said quietly.

  “Sure, shoot,” Jim replied, still looking in the direction of his mother.

  “What happened between you and your mother?” Taylor asked.

  Jim LeFleur sighed unhappily. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s not a real happy story, and you should feel good right now. You did really well out there.”

  “I’d like to know what happened. I’ve been wondering about it for a long time,” Taylor replied.

  Jim moved his wheelchair off to the side so they wouldn’t block anyone passing by. Taylor leaned against the wall next to him.

  “As you might know, my mom and Aunt Devon are cousins, but they grew up like sisters over at Wildwood Stables. Aunt Devon’s parents had a house on the property back then. It was knocked down some years ago.”

  Taylor recalled seeing the foundation of an old building in the upper pasture. She’d always wondered about it. Now she guessed it must have been where the house had once stood. “I think I know where it is,” she said, nodding.

  “My dad died in a car accident when I was still a baby, so Mom returned to Wildwood Stables with me to live at the ranch and help run things there.”

  “What a great place to grow up,” Taylor commented.

  “It was,” Jim agreed. “It was the best place in the world.”

  Taylor smiled at this. It was funny that he used those exact words. But she didn’t want to sidetrack him from his story. She’d been waiting to hear this story for a long time.

  “Well, it was around then, when I was twelve or so, that I had the accident that put me in this chair. Mom had taught me to jump. She was such a wonderful horsewoman. Man, you should have seen her go. At competitions, no one could beat her. The only one who ever came close was Aunt Devon, but even she mostly came in second place to my mother.”

  “I’ve heard that your mom has lots of ribbons, but she doesn’t display them, so I’ve never seen any,” Taylor mentioned.

  “Yeah? Who told you that?”

  “My dad used to ride down at Wildwood Stables. His name is Steve Henry,” Taylor said.

  “Get out of here!” Jim cried in astonishment. “You’re little Stevie Henry’s kid? No way!” He studied her with a sort of wonder. “I do see the resemblance now. Wow! How’s he doing?”

  “He’s good,” Taylor said. “So, you were telling me what happened….”

  “Okay, so … I wanted to compete at a higher level than before, and Mom was nervous about it. I convinced her to work with me, though. We were doing jumps in that corral right in front of the main building. The horse I was on threw a shoe as he was going over a high jump. He knocked over the jump and went down — right on top of me.”

  Taylor gave a little gasp. She could picture it all perfectly — it must have been so scary and awful at the time.

  Jim nodded at her reaction, then continued his story. “Part of my spine was crushed, and I’ve been in the chair ever since. Mom was so freaked out that she never wanted me to even be near another horse. And as you know, she never rode again, either. We even moved away, down to Bronxville, where Mom still lives.”

  “But you still loved horses,” Taylor said. She could understand that part completely — nothing could make her stop loving horses, either.

  “More than anything on Earth,” Jim agreed. “But Mom wouldn’t budge. After what had happened she wouldn’t let me near a barn, let alone a horse. That was where Aunt Devon came in. I convinced her to pick me up in Bronxville and drive me here to Ross River, which she had just opened with her husband. It was only an hour north of Bronxville. I told Mom I was busy with the chess club. For a while she thought I was staying late at school, and that the late bus was dropping me home.”

  “And did you ride?” Taylor asked.

  “I can ride a little if there’s someone around strong enough to help me into the saddle. But mostly I just loved being around the horses. I’d sit and watch great coaches like Keith give lessons or train. I learned a lot from hanging around with Enrique and listening to him talk about when he was a horse-racing jockey in Buenos Aires as a young man.”

  “How did Mrs. LeFleur find out what was going on?” Taylor asked.

  Jim laughed lightly. “She found out when she went to school to watch a big chess tournament and discovered that I wasn’t even in the chess club. She called Aunt Devon, in a panic that I was missing, and Aunt Devon confessed.”

  “Was she mad?”

  “Mad doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Jim recalled, shaking his head unhappily. “She called me a sneak and accused Aunt Devon of disrespecting her wishes and lying to her. Aunt Devon tried to apologize, but Mom cut her dead. She hasn’t spoken to Aunt Devon in twenty-four years.”

  “Wow!” Taylor commented. “I guess you missed the horses an awful lot, didn’t you?”

  “I missed them so much it hurt. I was fifteen years old when Mom found out I was spending time here at Ross River. I didn’t see another horse until I went away to college at eighteen. There was an equestrian team at the college, and my girlfriend at that time rode on it.”

  “Did Mrs. LeFleur mind that you were spending time with horses again, when you were at school?” Taylor wondered.

  “She sure did. She demanded that I stop going to the barn there, but I refused to stop. That’s when we had our huge fight. She said she wouldn’t pay for my college if I didn’t stop going. But I can be just as stubborn as she is, I guess. I dropped out of college, and she and I have been on bad terms ever since.”

  “What did you do after college?”

  “Well, I also started drawing horses at that time, so I kept up with that.”

  “You’re an artist?” Taylor asked, impressed. “Do you sell your work?”

  “I’ve illustrated books and magazines about horses. If you’re around, remind me sometime and I’ll show you samples of my work. I usually have a sketch pad in the car. I took a job at a horse magazine in their art department, but they moved their offices and I didn’t want to move that far away. When I told Aunt Devon I was looking for a job, she offered me one here.”

  “And I’m so glad I did,” said a new voice, behind Taylor.

  Taylor turned to see that Devon Ross had been standing in the hallway,
listening to their conversation. In her late fifties or early sixties, she was a tall, slim woman. Her dark hair was tied back, as always, in a severe bun. Mrs. Ross carried herself with such poise and dignity that she reminded Taylor of a ballet dancer or even a queen. Taylor had always found her extremely intimidating, but also kind of suspected that she had a soft side. Now, after hearing Jim’s story, her suspicion about this was even stronger.

  “Aunt Devon, this is —”

  Mrs. Ross cut off Jim’s introduction. “Taylor and I have met. You were working with your mother at my luncheon a few months ago. We met then.”

  “That’s right,” Taylor agreed, a little surprised that the woman remembered.

  “Nice riding out there today, young lady,” Mrs. Ross asked. “Will you continue to train here with Mr. Hobbes?”

  “Thank you, but since I didn’t win the prize I can’t afford to. My friend Mercedes won, so she’ll be coming.”

  “Ah, yes, the young lady who is currently working Monty for me; she’s also a gifted rider.”

  “Yes, she is,” Taylor agreed. “She’s so happy to be working with Monty again.”

  “I’m glad,” Mrs. Ross said. She turned her attention to Jim. “Has your mother left the ranch?”

  “I presume so. She stormed out in kind of a huff. I don’t think she expected to see me here today.”

  “This has got to end,” Mrs. Ross said sadly. “It’s been going on for too long.”

  “You’re right,” Jim agreed. “I’d be willing to try to straighten things out, but you know how stubborn she is. She feels like we’ve both betrayed her.”

  Taylor remembered how hurt she was when she felt Daphne had betrayed her, and her heart went out to Mrs. LeFleur. But she also understood Jim and Mrs. Ross’s side of things. Taylor couldn’t imagine how horrible it would be if for some reason she wasn’t allowed to be around horses, especially Prince Albert and Pixie. Devon Ross knew Jim had a passion for horses, and she was just trying to help him.