“Have you forgiven me?” Sierra asked, offering the mare another treat. She smiled in relief as the mare munched the treats and grass in contentment, her ears relaxed and eyes half closed.
Horses seem to know when you don’t mean to harm them and they will forgive you for almost anything, River had once told her. But it bothered Sierra that she would even need forgiveness from her mount. River certainly never did. This was not the kind of relationship she wanted with horses.
Is that what it takes to compete, to forcefully dominate all your horse’s movements? Sierra wondered. It seemed to be the method that Tess was trying to teach her. If she wanted to compete successfully would she have to ride as Tess insisted, in spite of how upset the horse became? Is that why River doesn’t compete, because he is unwilling to stress his mount?
“River, where are you?” Sierra spoke out loud. How she missed him and needed his coaching and advice. Would he tell her to forget about horse shows? She hoped not, for the image of herself wearing a black coat and polished black leather boots over snowy white breeches, and riding a gleaming horse with braided mane, and completing a dressage test or a jumping round with spectators looking on in awe…well, that was a dream that would be hard to put aside. How envious she had been last weekend when Crystal, Gloria, and Katrina returned from their first show of the season, each having won a ribbon. Crystal had won first place on Butch, Gloria had taken second on Silver, and Katrina placed fourth on Calliope.
River had not returned to work by the weekend his father had promised Tess. But apparently something had been worked out because on two more occasions Cray showed up with a mare in season to breed to his stallion.
In fact, it had been a month since River had quit and disappeared.
Pushing aside her regretful thoughts of River, Sierra led Fala back to the stable to finish grooming and put her away. Then she checked the notice board to see which horse Tess had assigned her to trail ride.
“Oh no,” she groaned out loud. Moose. Once before Sierra had been assigned the big thoroughbred gelding and had returned from the ride with her legs trembling in fear and relieved that she had survived without injury. WinSome Gold, nicknamed Moose, was a seventeen-hand, rangy, off-the-track, bay thoroughbred, whose owner had brought him to Tess to train as an event horse. He seemed talented enough, but he was strong in the head, moved with great bouncing strides, and shied at everything. It had been all Sierra could do to stay on his back and prevent him from bolting as he shied at every stick on the ground, rustling leaf, and shadow on the trail. He would leap to the side, try to spin around, and once half-reared.
With her heart already palpitating in trepidation, Sierra walked weak-kneed to the paddock to bring in Moose. He watched her warily, not particularly friendly, but at least did not run away as she approached with halter in hand. She gave him a piece of carrot which he gingerly accepted, and then she struggled on with his halter. Unlike Morris or Fala, he never lowered his head to help out.
After tacking him up, Sierra led Moose to the mounting block at the edge of the field. The tall gelding was already looking around wide-eyed and blowing loudly through his nose. My nervousness isn’t going to help him stay calm, Sierra admonished herself, but her heart remained in her throat. She practically had to leap from the mounting block onto his back, for he would not stand still, and once on his back, Moose immediately jumped forward into a trot. Sierra frantically gathered the reins and pulled on his mouth with all her strength, sitting deep in the saddle so that her weight would help bring him back to a walk. He threw his head up, almost hitting her in the face, but finally settled into a jigging walk.
“Easy, easy,” she tried to calm him and herself as she turned him to cross the field and onto the trail. They had covered the first few feet when he snorted loudly, lurched to the side throwing her off balance, and then spun and ran back towards the stable. Sierra managed to keep her seat by grabbing mane, but they were half way across the field before she was able to slow him down to his jigging walk and turn him back to the trail. Her hands were slick with sweat on the reins and her heart pounded in her ears. She had no idea what he had shied at.
Sierra struggled on, trying to get Moose around the trail and finish the ride with all her bones intact. Her shoulders ached and she could feel blisters forming between her fingers where she clutched the reins in a death grip. He never did walk, but jigged nervously or lurched between a trot and trying to break to a gallop. Sweat poured down her back between her shoulder blades and her hands remained clammy. “Please, Moose, please settle,” she begged and tried to soothe the frightened, worked-up animal.
Finally, they approached the last bend in the trail and Sierra let out her breath in relief. Made it.
But as they rounded the turn, the sunlight dappled in front of them and created strange shadowy patterns on the path. Moose flipped out. He reared straight up and this time he did hit her across her nose causing pain to shoot up into her brain. Her weight slipped to the side and as Moose lunged forward Sierra fell.
“Oof,” she rolled on contact with the hard ground and then lay still for a moment, listening to the sound of Moose galloping away. Slowly she pushed up onto her feet, feeling for damage. There was a scrape along her forearm and her nose ached, but otherwise she seemed okay. She hobbled clumsily; her rubber boots were certainly not meant for walking. Moose had most likely headed back to the stable at full speed. She just hoped he wouldn’t get a leg caught in a dangling rein and hurt himself. Humiliation filled her, to have to return to the stable de-horsed.
But as Sierra stepped out of the woods from the trail, there was Moose placidly grazing in the field, his reins dangling to one side. “Moose,” she called out to let him know she was approaching and not startle him. He looked up once and returned to grazing. Thankfully, he didn’t bolt as Sierra walked up to him and picked up the reins. His coat was damp and there were a few leaves clinging to the saddle pad where he must have cut underneath a low branch, but otherwise he seemed okay. “Let’s go, idiot,” she said, but not unkindly, and with a reassuring pat, led him back to the stable.
Sierra told no one about her fall. She never wanted to ride Moose again, but she wasn’t sure what scared her the most; riding Moose, or telling Tess she couldn’t handle him.
*****
14 Prodigal
If life is meant to be a journey of discovery, then riding is a metaphor for life. Riding well is like living well. – Charles de Kunffy
*****
The following Saturday Sierra arrived at the stable to find the main door already opened and the lights shining out into the dimness of the morning. She could hear horses nickering for their breakfast and shuffling about in their stalls. Sudden dread filled her; one of the horses must have developed colic during the night! She hurried in through the main door and a shiver went down her spine as she noticed the open door of Magic’s stall. Is he the horse with colic? Please, not Magic!
As she came close enough to see inside the stall, to her amazement there stood River with one arm around the chestnut’s neck and stroking him with his other hand. Magic had thrust his head against the boy’s chest. She could hear River talking to him in a low voice but could not distinguish the words.
“River?” Sierra spoke quietly out of habit around horses, although she wanted to shout a welcome.
River dropped his arms and stepped away from Magic with his head bowed and his shaggy hair hiding his face. He mumbled, “Hi,” and stepped past Sierra, pulling the stall door closed. He did not look up and headed toward the back of the barn where the hay cart awaited.
“River, what..? Sierra hurried to catch up with him. He looked at her sideways and she saw a purplish bruise and swelling around his left eye. She stifled a gasp and stated calmly, “You’ve been hurt.”
He didn’t answer; only continued walking to the hay cart and stepped up into the driver’s seat. He turned on the ignition but waited until Sierra climbed up into the passenger seat before driving
down the aisle.
“I’m so glad to see you. I’ve missed you so much,” she told him, trying to keep her emotional reaction from producing a tremor in her voice.
“Hmh,” he mumbled, keeping his face averted. Silence reigned; well that was nothing new.
They started the routine of delivering hay and then the grain. Sierra was used to River’s lack of inclination to talk. But before, the silence had been easy and comfortable; now there was tenseness and the obvious unspoken questions hanging in the air between them. She stole glances at River; he was even thinner, with hollows in his cheeks and shadows under his eyes. He moved slowly, as if parts of his body hurt. Just what happened to him?
With the horses fed, Sierra caught up to him as he headed outside. “Please tell me what happened,” she pleaded.
“There’s nothing to tell. I ran away, my father found me, and now I’m back.”
“Did your father hurt you?” Sierra blurted out the question.
River stopped suddenly but still did not look at her. “Sierra, don’t ask me questions. I really don’t want to talk about it.” Then he did glance at her quickly before he turned away and walked toward the paddocks.
Sierra sighed as she followed to help clean the water troughs, a job she had been doing on her own for the past month. She worried about what had happened to River, but knew he was not going to tell her anything unless he chose. Dark suspicions about his father filled her mind, especially after the conversation she had overheard with Tess.
River did his chores, avoiding Sierra, and she did hers; cleaning the restrooms and lounge and then cleaning tack that had been left yesterday by boarders. Then it was time to turn the horses out. Months ago they had established which horses Sierra always took out and those that River handled, and they wordlessly fell back into the same pattern.
They began the stall mucking chores, a time when River could not avoid Sierra. Storm, as if there had been no gap in the routine, sauntered into the aisle and plopped down where she could watch River work.
They had finished the first aisle of stalls when Sierra could not stand the hostile silence any longer. Why is he mad at me? She tried again to get River to talk; to try and re-establish their previous easy relationship. “I’m really glad to see you,” she offered.
No answer.
“I’ve been cleaning the stalls by myself on weekends. Manuel started helping me but I told him I didn’t mind.”
River heaved a full pitchfork of wet shavings into the cart. He sighed and paused a few moments before wielding it again. Sierra wondered if the work was hard for him; if he was in pain from some hurt or if his muscles ached from lack of use for the past month. She realized that she was keeping pace with him one-to-one, rather than him two to three stalls ahead of her as before.
“Tess is giving me lessons now.”
“Good for you.” His response sounded spiteful.
That hurt her feelings. All the emotions she had felt about River; looking up to him, missing him, worrying about him, and then to have him return and treat her so callously; well… Her confused emotions roiled into a smoldering heavy rock in her chest. Tears began to form but she gulped them back and let a flare-up of anger keep them at bay. She stopped her pitchfork and cried out, “River! Why are you mad at me? I thought we were friends and I’ve missed you so much.” Suddenly her anger dissipated as quickly as it had flared; the burning rock in her chest melted into an iciness that spread through her ribs and down her spine. The tears came in a flood.
River looked at her, stunned. He let his pitchfork fall and stepped over to the stall where she stood gulping back tears, and took her in his arms, hugging her against his chest. He held her tight while she sobbed..
His arms and chest felt hard and strong and secure. He smelled faintly of horses but also his own personal scent which Sierra breathed deeply into her lungs. He didn’t smooth her hair or rub her back; things her mother did to comfort her, yet it was a warm and safe place to be. He whispered against her hair, “Angelita,” so softly she wasn’t sure that he had even said the word. This is what it feels like to have a big brother!
At last Sierra’s sobs receded to sniffles and he loosened his arms. She looked up into his face. His dark eyes that so often looked out with a cold, hard expression were soft and gentle; like a horse’s large, warm, and trusting eyes. “I’m not mad at you,” he stated.
She nodded and said weakly, “Good.” It occurred to her that it was rather ironic; he was the one who had run away and probably beaten by his father, and yet he was comforting her.
“I’m sorry,” he said barely over a whisper. He dropped his arms and turned away to return to the stall where he had been working and retrieved his pitchfork.
They went back to work. Sierra pointed at Storm, who sat up stiffly with a worried look on her canine face. “I think we upset Storm.” The tension between them had disappeared, but Sierra kept her back toward River for awhile to hide the embarrassment of her blotchy face and red eyes.
“Tell me how things have been with you,” River asked after a short period of silence.
“I’m having a hard time riding the way Tess is teaching me,” Sierra confessed. She waited, hoping he would have some comments or advice. “The jumping lessons are going okay; it’s the dressage that’s hard.” He just nodded. “She’s letting me ride horses out on the trail every day.”
River snorted. “She’s not letting you ride the horses,” he told her. “She’s using you to condition the horses. If you didn’t take them out on the trail, then she would have to.”
Sierra felt stunned. He’s right! It wasn’t to improve her riding that Tess assigned the horses to ride. Sierra thought about that for a few minutes. Nobody likes to be taken advantage of, but truthfully, she guessed she didn’t care. She looked forward to the trail rides much more than her lessons. Going out on different horses and trotting and galloping definitely had improved her security in the saddle and her confidence. Plus, it was just plain fun.
“Oh…I guess you’re right.” She looked over at him scowling over his pitchfork. “But even so, it’s so awesome. It’s the best part of my day.” Except for Moose. Suddenly her terrifying ride and fall flashed into her brain. She had told no one, not even her mother, or that she dreaded having to ride the big, flighty horse again. Now she blurted out to River, “Most of the time anyway. Twice she had me ride Moose. I have a hard time controlling him.”
River froze with his pitchfork in hand. “What?” he exclaimed. “Sierra, even I have trouble with that horse on the trail.” And then more to himself, “What is she trying to do to her?”
Sierra felt tears building again but sniffed them back. Enough crying!
“You should tell her you can’t handle him.”
She nodded in agreement, afraid to try to speak just yet. It was such a relief that River agreed she shouldn’t ride Moose; that it was not just her lack of horsemanship.
He shook his head and went back to wielding the pitchfork. “She’s never even ridden Moose on the trail so she has no idea how he acts. He’s almost lazy when she rides him inside the arena. But he’s off the track; you get him outside and he thinks it’s time to race.”
Tess has never ridden Moose on the trail? That was news to her. Sierra sighed and smiled, “I’m so glad you’re back,” she couldn’t help but say again. She felt vindicated that even River admitted to a hard time with Moose.
A few stalls later, River brought up the subject of Crystal and Magic. “So Crystal’s going to show Magic in beginner novice.”
“Yeah,” Sierra confirmed. Four riders were going to a horse trial in two weeks; Crystal on Magic, Gloria on Silver, Katrina on Calliope, and Ann McGoverney, the high school girl who owned Lucy. They would compete as a team, representing Pegasus. It would be Magic’s first time out at an event.
“What a mistake,” River murmured, more to himself.
“Is Tess going to have you start riding him again?” Sierra asked hesitantly.
“He’s four years old,” River went on, ignoring her question. “He shouldn’t even be jumping yet, and he’s way too immature to compete.”
A whistled tune preceded the arrival of both Manuel and Rosa, bearing a breakfast basket. They greeted River exuberantly amid a flourish of excited Spanish. Rosa hugged him several times, and then as usual, hugged Sierra.
“Deese leetle girl, she work all by alone,” Manuel told River as they took a break. Sierra flushed at his praise.
“I’m sorry,” River said through a mouthful of tortilla, meeting her eyes. “It was very kind of you to do the stalls by yourself.”
Sierra felt embarrassed and turned away to give Storm a chunk of her burrito. The rest of the break, Manuel and Rosa chattered to River, and she finished eating in silence but with renewed happiness to be surrounded by these three people and one dog; like a family.
Sierra and River finished the stalls and then checked the notice board for their riding assignments. Today they were both assigned horses in training with Tess.
The two rode out together onto the trail. The early spring day, although cool and overcast, occasionally broke through with beams of sunlight through the gray clouds. There was a scent of things growing in the air; a hint of warmer weather just around the corner. The horses felt fresh and eager to be out in the open. Sierra rode behind, watching River’s back and even without seeing his face she could tell his mood had improved. She could not have been happier herself!
*****
The next Tuesday, Sierra mounted up on Morris for her lesson and began to warm him up. She had hoped Tess would turn her back over to River for lessons, but so far she hadn’t said anything; and Sierra remembered that Tess thought River had taught her some bad habits.
The Girl Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series) Page 10