The Pony Question

by Jackie Merchant

  “And Percy could have been a lot worse. What happened, Essie?” asked Francesca, a frown on her face.

  “I don’t really know,” said Essie. “She’s been getting harder to lead, but today I just couldn’t hold her. When she reared up, she nearly fell over backwards. She could have hit her head if she’d gone over.”

  “I think we need to talk to Selena about her, and maybe send an email to Jo,” suggested Francesca.

  Essie had no suggestions of her own, and she couldn’t think what Selena or Jo could do. She was already looking at Moxie, worrying about getting her back from the paddock to the stable. She couldn’t stay there too long, not unless they wanted her to get colic again. She had only been going to the small yard for a little while.

  “What brings you here, Rob?” asked Francesca.

  “I brought Mum’s chair and fabric, but I can come back later if this isn’t a good time,” he said, looking at Essie and Francesca’s worried faces.

  Francesca recovered first. “No, go and get it,” she said. “Bring it into the house. The workshop is pretty chockers, so it’s better off in there where you can explain everything to me.” Francesca turned to Essie. “Moxie will be okay in there for a while, Essie. We’ll come back and check on Percy and deal with her later.”

  Reluctantly Essie turned away, her mind filled with the image of Percy knocked to the ground. As they walked back to the house Percy and Connie drove past, Connie at the wheel.

  “Told you my money was on Connie.” Rob smiled.

  “Should I put the kettle on?” asked Essie as Rob and Francesca pulled bits of fabric from the bag Rob had brought with him, laying them out on the kitchen table. Each piece had an envelope pinned to it explaining what the item was, and a few lines about it.

  “No, I’m right, thanks,” said Rob.

  “Yes for me, I need one,” said Francesca, turning her attention to Rob.

  “There’s all sorts in here,” he said. “Some I can’t believe Mum kept, others I’m surprised have sentimental value. This one, however, I understand,” he said, pulling a faded blue work shirt from the pile. “This was my dad’s work shirt.” He rolled it over so they could see the name “Muddy” stitched on the front. “His name was Murray but everyone called him Muddy. This one,” he went on, lifting a faded rose print fabric from the box, “is from the curtains in the kitchen of their first house. This is my sister’s school uniform fabric. Mum can’t take all this stuff with her, but I thought if there was a way she could have it on the chair or something. It seems a lot of work for just giving one pony a ride, though,” Rob said as he put the next item down on the table, suddenly unsure. “I’m happy to pay for it,” he said earnestly.

  “Really, Rob, I’d like to do it. And it wasn’t just a pony ride, it’s also the hay and the stable,” said Francesca as she began moving the pieces around, swapping and changing patterns and colours. Standing back, she looked at everything laid out, a small frown on her face. “If I cover the chair,” she said, “then your mum will be able to sit on it, but she won’t be able to see all the bits. Have you thought about making a quilt with them?” Francesca asked, at which Rob laughed. “We suggested a quilt, but Mum said ‘absolutely not’. She says that would make her feel like an old lady. Mind you, she’s eighty-four.”

  “All right.” Francesca smiled. “Leave it with me.”

  “Are you okay now?” Rob asked Essie as she put the teapot on the table.

  “Yes, thanks,” said Essie.

  “You don’t sound better,” he said gently.

  “It just keeps escalating,” Essie said. “Her bad behaviour, I mean, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “I heard something about a guy coming to Lithgow to do a clinic for horses,” said Rob. “I could find out his name; he’s meant to be good.”

  “Nick Laurie,” said Essie. “I saw a flyer on the noticeboard,” she explained to a surprised-looking Francesca.

  “Did it look any good?” Francesca asked Essie.

  “Not for us, I don’t think,” said Essie, wanting to halt the conversation before the subject of money came up.

  “Right,” said Rob. “Well, I’d better go. Let me know about the chair, Francesca?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry, it will be beautiful. I’ll make sure it fits your mum perfectly.” She smiled a gentle smile.

  “I trust you,” he said with a backward wave of his hand as he went out the door. He was only gone a couple of minutes when he was back at the front door, an old red halter in hand. “Here, you might need this,” he said. “Would you like me to lead her up for you, Ess, put her back in her stable?”

  Essie wanted to say yes, but if she did she felt like she’d be sunk. “I’ll be right, thanks.”

  “Righto,” he said, and with a wave he was gone.

  It reads okay to me, unless you want to grovel a bit more,” Aiden said from his seat at Essie’s tiny desk. Essie came and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen.

  “Nope, it’s bad enough asking. I’m definitely not grovelling,” Essie said re-reading the email she’d written to her dad, asking him if he’d pay for her to go to the Nick Laurie clinic.

  Dear Dad, there is a horsemanship clinic in Lithgow that I’d really like to take Moxie (the pony) to. I was wondering if you would consider paying for it for my birthday and Christmas? I think it would be good for me after being out of horses for a while, and good for her, too.

  Love Essie.

  Asking him to pay had been Aiden’s idea. In the aftershock of Moxie knocking Percy down, Essie had confessed to him how much she wanted to go, and explained that it was too expensive.

  When Aiden had said, “Well, why don’t you ask your dad to help you out, get it for a combined birthday and Christmas present or something?” it had sounded so reasonable.

  Essie didn’t want to go through all the history of why she had sworn that she wouldn’t. She just said, “He doesn’t think Moxie is the right horse for me.”

  “But that’s not a good enough reason not to help. What can it hurt to ask him?” Aiden had insisted.

  Essie bit back the truth, that it would hurt her pride to ask, and that he’d probably hurt her feelings with his reply.

  While Aiden had been reading the email, Essie had realised she just couldn’t ask. Even with Moxie and the truck, and Percy and everything else, even knowing how desperately she needed help, she just couldn’t ask Steven.

  She rested her head in her hands for a moment, remembering the sight of Moxie’s belly as she reared up.

  Hearing the sound of mail going out, Essie’s head jerked up. “You better be doing a test email?”

  “Um, no,” said Aiden.

  Essie gasped. “Aiden, what did you do? I’m not sending that email.”

  “Yes, Essie, you are. Actually, yes, Essie, you have,” he replied defiantly.

  Essie was furious with him. “Aiden, you had no right, it’s none of your business,” she said, eyes wide. “Not everyone’s like your dad, you know.”

  “I know they’re not, and he’s not perfect either, but I just sat here at your computer, Essie, while your photos played, and in every one there’s your old horse. In every second one there’s you and your dad and a horse, and in all of them you’re smiling. So don’t be as stubborn as he is. You don’t know, maybe he feels like your mum has taken over his horse space. I bet you never thought of that?”

  With that he picked up his camera off the bed and went to leave. “If he says yes, you can thank me later. If he says no then you won’t be surprised, but nothing ventured, nothing gained, Ess.” There was that expression again. He shut the bedroom door on his way out.

  Essie slumped back down on the bed. What Aiden didn’t know was just how much every one of those noes hurt. The fact that it was no surprise didn’t help at all.

  There was a tap on her bedroom door, Francesca opened it just a crack. “I’m going to the barn to have a closer look at the benc
h and cupboards. Want to come for a walk, get some fresh air and grab Moxie? Don’t forget, Selena is coming to check Moxie’s legs.” She smiled gently.

  “Sure,” said Essie, still aggravated from Aiden sending the email.

  They could see Moxie grazing at the back boundary of the paddock. She raised her head, seeing them approach and slowly began sauntering to the gate. Essie hoped she’d be able to get Rob’s halter on her.

  “She’s really starting to look good, isn’t she?” said Essie, noticing how her neck was filling out, starting to get a lovely curve across the top line.

  “Yes, she is,” said Francesca. “We’re starting to see the pony from the photo. Now, tell me about more about this Nick Laurie guy,” she said as they entered the shed, catching Essie completely off guard.

  “I don’t know much,” replied Essie “just what I saw on the flyer, and I know that it’s too expensive.”

  “Don’t worry about the money for now, Ess, we’re just talking about it, and that’s free. What else have you managed to find out online? Come on, fill me in,” Francesca said, opening the first of the cupboards.

  “He specialises in young and problem horses, and ones being restarted under saddle,” Essie said. “People have pretty amazing things to say about him. He trains horses for movies, and he’s helped with high-level competition horses, everyday riders, racehorses. And,” Essie emphasised, “it’s expensive,” as if that finished the conversation.

  “What sort of expensive?” asked Francesca.

  “Expensive enough,” said Essie, “that I emailed Dad a little while ago to see if he’d pay.” Essie watched Francesca’s face, trying to judge her reaction.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Essie tried to explain. “I had sort of typed it, and then Aiden was checking it and he sent it. I didn’t realise until it was too late.”

  “That might make it hard to keep the horses and your dad separate. Not that I’m saying you should, but you’ve been pretty definite about that. Him paying would certainly make getting you there easier,” said Francesca thoughtfully, “but you would have to be okay with it.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked for myself,” Essie said honestly, “and I’m furious at Aiden for sending it, but if by some miracle Dad said yes . . .” Essie paused and shrugged. “Moxie needs it. I don’t know how to respond when she goes off. I feel like she’s asking me for answers, but I don’t know what they are or what to do.” Essie couldn’t hide her frustration.

  Francesca reached out and squeezed Essie around the shoulders. “You don’t have to explain it to me,” she said. “Well, I guess we just wait and see,” she added, turning back to the cupboards.

  “These really are beautiful, aren’t they?” Francesca said, looking wistfully at the cupboard and the old benchtop sitting in the middle of the shed.

  “It would make a beautiful workbench for you, Mum,” said Essie. “Like the lady said, it still has the original ruler in it, and all these cupboards for your fabric. The studio would look beautiful.”

  “It would, wouldn’t it? No more old door. The ruler is decoration only though, it’s still in inches.” Francesca smiled. “It’s so beautifully built,” she sighed, running her hand along the smooth edge of the bench. “But it’s more valuable to me to pay it off the credit card,” she said practically.

  “But,” Francesca conceded, “I’ll do a measure-up and think about it. After all, it did end up with us for a reason, just like the old lady said.” Francesca smiled. “And there is nothing wrong with dreaming.” She shrugged her shoulders.

  Taking her phone out, Francesca snapped a bunch of photos, then pulled a measuring tape from her pocket, asking Essie to help her measure it up properly. “I’d better make sure it fits before I get too carried away,” she said, but Essie could see she was excited. “Right,” she said, “that’s sorted. Now let’s go and see if we can get this halter of Rob’s on our Moxie and coax her calmly back to her stable.”

  Moxie stood at the gate, her eyes soft, leg rested. “She looks like she’s feeling better for the run,” said Essie. “Are you, Mox?” she asked, rubbing her around the head before slipping the halter on, taking it up to the last hole. It just fitted.

  “Ready?” said Francesca. “I’m going to open the shoot,” she joked, making like the gate was at a rodeo and Moxie a bucking bull.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” said Essie, feeling her anxiety rise, but she needn’t have worried. This Moxie was about as different from that morning’s pony as it was possible to be. As they walked calmly back up the path Essie wondered if she’d needed to contact her dad after all. But she reminded herself they still had a pony who hadn’t been ridden for two years, and Essie knew Moxie being well behaved was nothing to do with her, and if she’d played up she still wouldn’t know what to do. Silently, as she took Moxie’s halter off in the stable, she hoped her dad would come through, even if she wasn’t ready to forgive Aiden for sending the email.

  “Look,” Francesca said, holding up a photo of the benches in front of where they could run along the back wall. “And here,” she said, showing Essie the benchtop. “It would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” she said, more to herself than to Essie. “Anyway, plenty of time to think about that.”

  “Here’s Selena,” said Essie, seeing the car pull in.

  “Afternoon, everyone,” Selena called, walking across the grass. Turning to Essie, she asked, “Can you bring her out for me, Essie? Rugs off, we need to give her a bit of a trot out. Now tell me again what you know about the injury.”

  Essie slid the rugs off Moxie’s rump in one go and walked her out into the sunlight, standing her up for Selena, relaying the little they knew of the story of Moxie’s injury and her being turned out.

  Selena started running her hands down Moxie’s legs, before coming back to the near-side front leg. “The thing about spelling and then turning her out in a big paddock is that there’s always a chance she has galloped around and it has been damaged more.” Seeing Essie’s stricken face, she said, “I can’t feel anything on her legs at the moment, and if it was just the sheath, and not the tendon itself, then there’s a good chance it’s healed, but let’s trot her out and see how she looks. Can you run her to the road and then turn her and trot back, thanks, Essie?”

  Essie lost count of how many times she ran her up and down the front lawn. Then Selena had her try and trot her on the lunge. Moxie fizzed and pigrooted. As Essie started to get stressed, Selena called out, “Don’t worry, Essie, that’ll do anyway.” Running her hands down Moxie’s legs one last time, Selena stood up, smiling, and said, “I think you’re good to go. I’d say avoid deep sand for a while and be sure that if and when you do ride her, you walk her and warm her up. Then if you have any concerns and you think she seems uneven or sore, we can check again.” Patting Moxie on the neck, Selena said, “I can’t get over how good she looks. Was there anything else?” she asked, looking from Essie to Francesca.

  “Why don’t you ask Selena about the spooking thing?” Francesca said to Essie.

  “Is she more spooky than normal?” Selena asked.

  “Well, I don’t really know what her spooky is,” Essie said, “but sometimes to lead her I can barely keep hold of her.”

  “Well, she’s going to be feeling good, and she isn’t being worked, or the spring grass might have started early, it might be no more than that.”

  “She isn’t out all that much,” Essie said, turning to put Moxie back in her stable.

  “That could be it too,” said Selena. “She’s used to being out, doing it tough. Now she feels great, she’s well fed and she’s stabled a lot of the time. She might just be bored and full of energy.” Selena smiled. “Try turning her out more, see if that helps – bit by bit, though, so we don’t get any more colic. Besides, the last thing we want is for her to get too fat.” She laughed. “Who would have imagined we’d be worried about that only weeks ago?”

  “I’d like to take her to this Nick Laurie clinic,” E
ssie said as Selena headed to the car.

  “Oh, I’ve heard good things about him,” she said, “and work might be the best thing for her; it just might solve all your problems.” As she backed out she called, “Enjoy yourself if you get to the clinic, let me know how she goes,” then she waved and was gone.

  “What time would it be in Germany now?” asked Essie, looking back at Moxie, who was taking a long drink out of her bucket.

  “Well, Germany is about eight hours behind, so you probably won’t hear anything until late tonight or even tomorrow if he wants to have a think about it,” said Francesca.

  “Okay,” said Essie, “I better get busy and fill in some time then.”

  Francesca looked at her and frowned. “You’ve got big dark circles under your eyes, maybe you should have an afternoon nap on the lounge?”

  “No, I’m right,” said Essie, just as a big yawn made her eyes water. Laughing, she said to Francesca, “Okay, maybe just an hour or so.”

  Essie put a record on and lay down on the couch, pulling a rug up over her legs as the music started, but she barely heard the opening notes; she was already asleep.

  She woke long after the record had finished to the sound of Francesca making dinner in the kitchen.

  Opening her computer, Essie checked her email again.

  Catching her, Francesca said, “A watched kettle never boils you know. Look again in the morning.”

  “I won’t sleep,” Essie said, shutting the computer harder than she meant to.

  “Yes, you will,” said Francesca, “and the answer won’t change, whether you know it tonight or in the morning.”

  “All right,” said Essie, unfolding herself from the lounge and heading for the kitchen, suddenly hungry, “but if you hear your mopoke tonight, can you ask him to get Dad to say yes?”

  “I’m not sure if his influence goes as far as Germany,” said Francesca, “but sure, I’ll ask.”

  “Thanks, Mum,” she said, climbing onto the kitchen stool.

  “Ess,” said Francesca, “sometimes you just have to trust that everything is working out the way it’s meant to, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time.” Francesca smiled softly at her.