Bittersweet Farm 2: Joyful Spirit

by Barbara Morgenroth

  “That’s a relief,” I replied being unable to imagine what kind of situation I was supposed to create.

  “Think about it. We’ll begin next week. It was very nice to meet you, Miss Kerr. I’m looking forward to working with you, Talia.”

  “Bye.”

  The thirty-something woman left by the front door and the three of us looked at each other.

  “I’d bet my money that she’s a Wharton Business School graduate,” Jules said. “She probably has a couple degrees.”

  “Does she work for my father?”

  Rogers took the course study out of my hand and began reading it.

  “Yes. A house has been rented for her in Esophus. I saw a photo of it, it’s really cute.”

  “Why wasn’t a house rented for you?”

  Jules was surprised. “How would I cook for you at two in the morning if I lived twenty miles away?”

  “Right. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing that, though. Your day doesn’t have a beginning or end,” I replied.

  “This is exactly what I want to do.”

  “It’s good to know.”

  “No wind is favorable if you don’t know what port you’re sailing to,” Jules told me.

  She was right and I was just beginning to know where I was going. Staying at the farm was a large part of it but with all the academic work expected and now this create an organization challenge, I would be lucky if I ever left the house.

  My father hadn’t stressed the importance of having a schedule for no reason. It wasn’t likely I would be doing things by the hour but it would be crucial to block out portions of the time, otherwise I wouldn’t know if I was coming or going.

  Academic work would take up four hours of the day, which seemed like a cakewalk after being stuck in school for six, but I had twice as much to get done. Homework hadn’t been a strain at The Briar School since I did just enough to get by, but that nonchalant approach wasn’t going to work any longer.

  Deciding what part of the day I most wanted to be at the barn was imperative. Summer was nearly over and the midday heat would be moderating soon. Riding early in the morning or in the evening wasn’t as important as it had been. In another two months, we’d go off daylight savings, and it would be darker earlier. It didn’t matter if I was going to ride in the arena but I didn’t want to be out in the fields in low-light conditions.

  “You know we have that hunter pace in a couple weeks,” Rogers said. “Are you going to have time to train for it?”

  “I don’t know why we can’t just go for a hack. Why do we need to train?”

  “Because I would like to finish well. I don’t want to come in with the rest of the hilltoppers.”

  Hilltoppers were riders with the hunt club who didn’t jump, tended to take the easy trails and didn’t go at a hunting speed.

  The entire point of a hunter pace was to cover the course at the speed of a fox hunt, which meant quite fast and jumping whatever natural or semi-natural obstacles were in the way.

  The last time I had been on a hunter pace was the first year I lived here and was teamed with Greer who had a horse name Carrena. For the whole two hours, we careena’ed around the countryside. Hating every minute of it, I swore never to subject myself to that kind of torture again.

  Instead, Greer switched to equitation and I was dragged along for that. I wanted to ride, not compete. My entire life seemed like a test already and I didn’t often feel as though I was passing. So, without much choice in the matter, I went along with Greer and my father. I had the lessons, went to the shows and made a small effort to do what was expected of me. I either rode Butch in the woods by myself or holed up in my room reading as much as possible. No one objected.

  Until Lockie arrived. Then everything changed.

  Except I still didn’t want to compete. I wanted to accommodate Rogers since she was the only girlfriend I had, but galloping over trails through woods I had never seen before was hardly my idea of having fun.

  “I didn’t know we were supposed to win,” I said as we walked back to the barn.

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t know about winning but let’s at least come close to the time,” Rogers replied.

  A team from the hunt club would ride the course days before the hunter pace. That time would be judged to be at the speed of a fox hunt. Teams would attempt to duplicate that pace and the one closest would win.

  It wasn’t a contest of skill and there was no way of knowing how fast or how slow the original team had gone. Those familiar with hunting, like Rogers, would have a better idea than someone like me who didn’t attend hunts regularly. The whole event was more for fun than anything else, at least, that was how I saw it which was why I didn’t see any point in rushing over hill and dale trying to match an unknowable time.

  “What’s the glory in coming close,” I asked. “As long as you finish, isn’t that good enough?”

  “No.”

  “I thought you hated horse shows.”

  “I hate equitation. I’m never going to be a pretty rider like you.”

  “Excuse me? I’m not a pretty rider.” It sounded like a doll with long nylon hair riding my sparkly plastic pony around the ring.

  “You’re very quiet and your position is perfect.”

  “Yes, exactly why I placed above Greer all the time. As if that ever happened.”

  “Greer performs. She’s eye-catching. Do you remember that ice skater we used to watch who did that flip with her hand during her programs?”

  Rogers and I loved ice skating. We sure weren’t ever going to see equestrian events covered by television sports, so we had to watch something.

  “I can’t remember her name. Svetlana or something.”

  “Exactly. Greer is like the hand flip. She’s showy. You’re not and, no offense, but Butch wasn’t helping you very much.”

  “Don’t blame Butch for my shortcomings.”

  We stopped at the pasture and I could see Butch with his ponies. Somehow, I felt left out. We weren’t best friends anymore. He was with his new buds. It was as it should be but I couldn’t help missing what we had together.

  “I’m not, but you’re elegant and he’s not. You’re a different rider on CB. That’s a match made in heaven.”

  That was a match made by Lockie.

  Lockie, who always seemed to get it right.

  “Thank you for the big vote of confidence and I appreciate the nice compliments even if I don’t believe them. If I cross the finish line in one piece on this hunter pace, that’s sufficient for me.”

  Rogers’ look practically shot daggers at me. “Why can’t you put a little effort into it?”

  “I’m going, aren’t I?”

  “Why do you have to be dragged through everything?” She turned and continued to the barn.

  “If you can explain that to me,” I began.

  “You’re like a mule. You never do anything willingly. You take no pleasure in anything.”

  “That is so untrue.”

  “You loved being alone with Butch,” Rogers replied. “What else?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “You can’t come up with anything. Tali, my life’s not perfect either. I’ve been bullied in school since kindergarten. I’m the fat girl in a universe of girls wearing size 1. At least when I was in the hunt field on Sarge, no one was judging me and I had fun. And, god knows, my parents were still asleep and my trainer wanted nothing to do with it because there are no prizes to be awarded.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “Why did I have to ask, why didn’t you just say something?”

  “The same reason you never said anything. It doesn’t get you anywhere. I’m so done with that.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Good luck?

  “Do you want to take CB out on the trails?”

  “You’re going out?”

  “Karneval and I have to be fit and that applies to you, too. We’
re not going for a Sunday stroll. You canter most of the way on a hunter pace.”

  “Do you walk the rest of the way?”

  “No, you’re trotting or galloping to make up time.”

  “Swell.”

  “Okay, so you’re not going?”

  “No, I want to wait for Lockie.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

  Someone else I just disappointed. I knew the expression.

  The contractor who was building the outside course came out of the barn as Rogers was going in.

  “Hi,” I said to him. “I wonder if you could look at something I need done.”

  “I’m supposed to be up on the hill.”

  “This will be fast, I promise.”

  He followed me into the barn and I stopped at CB’s stall and pointed to the sliding door. “I want these bars to be removed.”

  “They’re bolted in.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll need a piece of angle iron to cover the bare surface.”

  “Okay. Can you do that?”

  “When do you want it done?”

  “Right now if possible.”

  “Which stall is the most important? I’ll do that now and the rest later when I have the angle iron. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Let me get my power drill and it would be good to move the horse.” He went down the aisle while I went into CB’s stall.

  “You’re going to be so happy!”

  ***

  About an hour later, Lockie entered the barn and saw CB hanging his head over the stall door. “What happened here?”

  I stopped brushing Memento, a horse that Lockie had bought to sell about two weeks before. He was a cute round, brown gelding, barely larger than a pony and would be perfect for a young girl moving up from jodhpurs to breeches. The problem with this gelding was he had come from a stable where they weren’t as concerned with technique as they should have been.

  Lockie’s had created a crash course to get him up to speed by instilling the basics with lots of flat work to start, as well as perfecting his transitions and balance. Someone was going to be a very lucky girl.

  “CB said he wanted to look out.”

  “All right. How about we leave the bars on a couple stalls at the end of the aisle? It’s not so much that they can reach the horse in the stall next to them but some may have bad habits about traffic in front of their stall.”

  “We had a horse like that, that’s how we wound up with the bars. But it’s too much like jail, Lockie.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. Let’s store the bars in the tractor barn, though, and not throw them away.”

  “In case.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. How is Josh?”

  Lockie went into the tack room and I followed him.

  “Lockie. How is Josh?”

  “He’s fine.”

  It didn’t seem like that to me. “What did you talk about?”

  “We had a man to man talk. Apparently he doesn’t have any men in his life.”

  “What are you saying? He has a father, a brother and a boyfriend.”

  Lockie turned away from the bridle hung on the cleaning hook. “But they aren’t unbiased.”

  “You’re unbiased? Why does he need that?”

  “Because he does and don’t grill me because Josh asked me not to tell you what we talked about.”

  “It’s a secret?”

  Lockie removed the bridle from the hook. “Is saying something in confidence a secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s a secret. Are you riding Memento this afternoon?”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Then I will.”

  “Where’s Tracy?”

  “I think she’s going to the dentist.”

  “What’s up with Josh that it has to be a secret from me? I’m his best friend.”

  “I don’t want to rub it in, Silly, but you were his best friend.”

  I stood there.

  “What?” Lockie asked.

  “Rogers is ticked off at me, Josh doesn’t consider me his best friend anymore ...” I turned away then turned back. “And you know what happened just after lunch?”

  “What?”

  I tried to say the words.

  “Talia, what happened?”

  “I stopped by the fence and Butch didn’t acknowledge me. He was busy with the ponies. He’s never ignored me before.”

  Lockie put his arm around my shoulders, pulled me near and pressed his lips to my cheek.

  “He wasn’t ignoring you. He probably didn’t see you. Maybe he needs prescription eyeglasses.”

  Lockie stepped away but I grabbed his hand.

  “Everyone’s leaving me.”

  He smiled. “No. I’m not going anywhere and CB is still waiting to sit on your lap.”

  I turned and saw CB watching us while chewing a mouthful of hay, dropping half of it on the aisle.

  “I don’t like changes.”

  “Is that what your problem is? I’m glad we’ve defined it. Are you going to ride Memento for me or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Switch the egg-butt for a full cheek snaffle for today’s ride.”

  “Why?”

  “To change things up. Give him something to think about.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I slammed the lid down on my laptop. Even with no photos, I knew what it look like.

  “This freaking day ...” I started.

  Jules looked up from finishing a dessert she was creating. “What’s wrong with today?”

  I shook my head.

  The door opened and Lockie entered. “I have to go look at a horse, do you want to go with me?”

  “No, thank you.”

  I didn’t want to look at another horse with an unpredictable future.

  Jules put down the knife she was holding. “I think I have to go count the angels on the head of a pin.”

  “How long will that take?” I asked.

  “Until you two sort out whatever is going on.” Jules left the kitchen.

  “What happened? You had a good ride on Memento. Rogers didn’t try to run you over with her car when she left. You came up to the house and now this mood.”

  “I don’t want to go look at the horse with you.”

  “Okay. I’ll ride him.”

  “Where’s Tracy?” I asked.

  “Doing chores.”

  “I’ll do her chores and she can go with you.”

  “No one is going anywhere until you tell me what this is about.”

  I didn’t look at him.

  “I can wait you out.” Lockie sat down.

  I started to get up and he put his hand on my arm.

  “Are you angry with me? Because I don’t know what I did.”

  “Let it be. Don’t you have an appointment you have to get to?”

  “I’m a highly paid babysitter. Isn’t that what you told Greer today? If you two would stop screaming at each other maybe the entire town wouldn’t know your business.”

  Lockie was relentless, goal-oriented and focused in a way I would never be. It was like being caught in a tidal wave of his determination.

  “If I am a babysitter, what do I have to do, take you to the playground and push you on a swing until you’re in a better mood?”

  “Can’t you leave me alone for the rest of the day?” I just wanted to mourn the death of this unknown horse by myself.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Tell me what’s going on and I’ll leave you alone for as long as you want.”

  Hope for a couple hours to myself.

  I opened the laptop and turned the screen to face him.

  He read for a moment, pressed the off button and the screen went dark.

  “Accidents happen.”

  “This was an unnecessary accident.”

  I had been reading the news in the Equine Gazette online. A young woman, my age, was ridi
ng her horse over an oxer. The horse’s front legs caught the rails. He flipped over the fence, landed badly and died from the injuries. The rider walked away.

  I hated these stories. “It’s unfair,” I said.

  “You wanted her to get hurt, too?”

  “Of course not. He didn’t ask to jump the fence. We should leave to them to their own lives. That’s a pretty high price to pay for her to have some fun or glory or whatever she gets out of it.”

  Lockie stood. “No one’s making you ride. If you don’t want to, don’t.”

  That wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Explain it to me. Why do you have to take such chances?”

  “I don’t know, Tali. Why do people do anything? Because it’s enjoyable, it satisfies something in their lives.”

  “But not the horses.”

  “We’ve covered this before and we disagree. I couldn’t force Wing to do anything.”

  I stood up so fast I knocked the chair over. “You’re deluding yourself. In a very methodical way, over years, a horse is trained to perform whatever tasks are required. They’re being taken advantage of.”

  “That’s why they quit in front of fences every damn day, because they’re automatons. You will not be able to train the swish out of CB no matter how hard we work at it. Have you ever watched the dressage tests at the Olympics? These are some of the most highly trained horses on the planet. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the last Games, I watched Calise intentionally miss a flying change, then he bucked, invented a gait I’d never seen before and headed for the exit. It’s up to you to explain that.”

  “Simple. He was unhappy.”

  “I thought you said they are forced into doing exactly what we demand of them. It can’t be both ways. They can’t have free will and be submissive, too.”

  “You can’t control anything a hundred percent of the time,” I replied.

  “Yeah, that’s why someone came up with the word accident.”

  “If a skydiver jumps out of a plane and his parachute doesn’t open, it was his choice to take the risk.”

  “And it was my fault I got thrown into the berm.”

  I reached for his hand. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “You did and it was my choice. I knew the risks then and I know them now.”

  “Horses don’t, Lockie. That’s what I’m saying.”