The Pony Question

by Jackie Merchant

  “We knew we had no chance of getting you to move her stable from the carport – well, not yet anyway – but now you’ve got a little tack room and a spot to tie her up,” Percy said proudly. Essie was overwhelmed, and she stood up to hug them both hard.

  “Right, just one more,” said Francesca, “though no one is going to top that one, Percy and Connie! Here, darling girl,” she said, putting a large, soft parcel on the bench.

  Essie wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Thanks, Mum,” she said, “but you got me the clinic, and Moxie,” she laughed, “and everything. You didn’t need to get me anything.”

  “Okay then,” joked Francesca, “I’ll take it back.” Essie laughed and held the present tight.

  She felt all around it before pulling the paper off. There, in black wool with pale blue and white binding, was a beautiful woollen rug and hood. “Tailor made for Moxie.” Francesca smiled,

  “Wow, Mum, it’s beautiful. You’re so clever,” Essie said, turning to hug her. “Thank you, thank you all so much, for my presents and especially for driving all this way.”

  “Yes, thank you for bringing the lunch stuff,” said Francesca, moving presents aside so she could set the table.

  “It’s a beautiful cake, Doddsy,” said Essie.

  “Well, it looked a little better before a certain little person climbed up and broke its front leg off,” laughed Doddsy. “Lucky we had enough icing to cover it up.”

  “Barbecue’s ready to go,” called Rob from the back.

  “Great,” said Francesca, passing him a plate of sausages. Essie sat back and looked at each of them, feeling grateful.

  Lunch was all but done, and forks were scooping up the last of the birthday cake when Essie looked at the time and realised she needed to go and saddle up. Not wanting an audience, she picked up the phone and earpiece and slipped out, leaving everyone looking at photos of Rob’s relatives standing around his mum, who was sitting proudly in the star chair.

  Essie couldn’t get over Moxie as she led her up the path. The difference the past two days had made was amazing. No one was around at the stables except Sam, who moved about quietly, tidying up. “Need anything?” he asked as Essie walked Moxie to her stable.

  “I think I’m right,” she answered.

  “Oh, one thing,” he said, following her, carrying Nick’s saddle and bridle and putting them on the stable door. “Can you bring her to your lesson saddled up? We need to run on time today and that will help a bit.”

  “Sure,” said Essie, though she felt far from it.

  Grabbing the saddle blanket to put it on, she noticed it was damp. Putting it aside, she rummaged around in her bag and grabbed the one she’d packed just in case, an old white dressage one. Essie smiled and said to Moxie, “Now you’ll look the part.” As she turned for the saddle, the phone buzzed in her ear, making her jump. Fumbling, she finally hit the button to answer it, wondering if she’d got it in time. “Hello? Hello?”

  “Happy Birthday, Hope,” she heard her dad say.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said, a slight echo on the phone.

  “Had a nice day so far?” he asked. “Finally, a teenager.”

  “Yeah, really good,” Essie said.

  Then he surprised her by asking, “How’s the clinic going?”

  “Nick has been amazing,” said Essie, uncertain whether to mention Moxie. She didn’t want to stop the conversation before it started.

  “And your mare, too. Your mum sent me a video of Nick riding her. She looks fantastic, Essie – you wouldn’t know it was the same pony. You should be really proud.” There was a long pause and then he added, “I might have been a bit quick to write her off.”

  Essie felt tears spring to her eyes. She knew it was the closest thing to an apology that she’d get from him.

  “I’m glad we’re not trying to plait that poor mane though,” Steven said. Essie could hear him smiling down the phone, she could hear a little bit of her old dad, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Ah well,” said Essie, “maybe it’ll be grown out by the time you get back.”

  “Are you going to have a ride today? That’d be a nice birthday present,” Steven said.

  “I don’t think so,” Essie managed to get out, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  “How come?” asked Steven. “Are you worried about what she might do?”

  “No,” Essie said, “it’s not that.” As the pause stretched on, Steven finally asked, “Do you know what’s stopping you, Ess?”

  “No,” Essie lied.

  Essie had forgotten how well he knew her.

  “Hope?” her dad asked gently.

  Finally, talking around the massive lump in her throat, Essie said, “I don’t know how to do it without you, Dad. I don’t know how to do it without you here.”

  “Oh Hope,” he said, “of course you do. You were the horse person always, even as a little girl. I was just the back-up crew. Don’t you remember? You were always the one who was organised, knew what time you needed to warm up, when the farrier was due, when to get your entries in, when Chet wasn’t right.” He laughed, then joked, “I’m not saying I wasn’t the best groom in the world, mind you, but the days of you being a little girl who couldn’t lift your own saddle on are far behind you. You’re the horse person, Essie. You were always the one who loved the horses, and I loved doing it because we did it together.”

  “And now you’re not here, now we don’t.” Essie sighed into the phone, her heart heavy.

  “No, now we don’t, you’re right. But while some things change, Essie, others don’t and one thing that hasn’t is your love for horses. As for me not being there, it seems to me that you have lots of lovely people to help you. Essie, would you like to have a ride today?”

  “Yes,” Essie admitted, “I would, but I’m nervous. I’m about to saddle her up and that makes me nervous enough. Plus, I hate everyone watching me.”

  “You always liked to try new things with Chet for the first time by yourself. I remember your riding teachers would ask you to try something new in a lesson and you wouldn’t do it, but then you’d go away and practise all week and by your next lesson you’d have it figured out.”

  Essie smiled. She hadn’t realised that was what she did, but he was right.

  “Well,” said Steven, “I guess I better let you saddle up. What saddle are you using?”

  “I borrowed Nick’s,” Essie replied.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to your mum about sorting something out then, if you decide to keep Moxie – which I think you probably will.” There was a sigh in his voice. “All right, I’d better let you go. Ask your mum to video your first ride, would you?” he asked. “I’d love to see it.”

  “Okay,” said Essie quietly, not wanting him to go. “Dad?” she asked.

  “Yes, Hope?”

  “Could you stay on the phone with me while I saddle up? You don’t need to say anything, but it’ll be a bit like you’re here, waiting outside the stable.”

  There was a pause and then he replied, “Of course I can.”

  Essie saddled Moxie, occasionally telling her dad what she was doing. “Gee, Dad, I’m a bit clumsy and out of practice,” she said, when at last they were ready to go.

  “Don’t forget your hat and gloves,” Steven said, just as Essie bent into the bag to pull them out. Walking Moxie to the arena, there was still no one else around, just her dad quiet in her ear. Without looking left or right, she shut the arena gate behind her, stopping long enough to run the stirrups up three holes before walking to the mounting block.

  Essie knew she should wait for Nick, and her mum, but her dad was right, she did like to do things for the first time by herself.

  “I’m ready to get on, Dad,” Essie said, climbing onto the mounting block.

  “All right,” he said, “I’m happy to hear it. Don’t forget to get your mum to video it. Happy birthday, my darling girl. And Essie?”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “Just e
njoy the ride.” It was what he’d said to her every time she went into the warm-up area, or into a dressage test. Maybe, she acknowledged, her heart easing, he hadn’t been just about the winning.

  “I will, Dad,” she said. “Love you.”

  “Love you too. Now ride,” he said, before hanging up.

  She stood concentrating on her breathing. Then, not thinking any more about it, she swung herself lightly into the saddle. She looked down at Moxie’s golden ears, one of which was turned back towards her, listening.

  Essie sat for a few seconds, making sure she was deep in the saddle and that her contact with Moxie’s mouth was light, and then, with a squeeze of her legs, she said, “Walk on, Moxie.”

  Moxie’s stride was long, fluid and powerful. Essie turned her gently left and right, studying how she moved off her leg, walking then halting her, getting a sense of what she was like.

  Looking at the clock, she knew she wouldn’t have the arena to herself for long. And so, heart just a little in her mouth, Essie squeezed with her calves and asked Moxie to trot. She knew Moxie wouldn’t feel like Chet, with his short, workmanlike strides, but she was in no way prepared for Moxie’s trot.

  As Moxie powered from behind, moving off in a long striding trot, Essie dropped her weight down and leaned slightly forwards, just enough to catch up with the movement, until her body found Moxie’s rhythm. Then suddenly all that power beneath her made riding Moxie effortless. Each trot stride propelled her up into a rise, Moxie responding to her shifts in weight. Moving away from the safety of the arena wall, Essie turned her across the diagonal, feeling just how much more trot was in there ready to lengthen, waiting to go. Sitting down to balance herself before the corner, there was a moment of confusion as Moxie, feeling Essie sit and her outside leg touch her, popped into canter. Unbalanced for a moment, Essie nearly panicked, it felt like Moxie was flying. But then, sitting down deep in the saddle, Essie settled into the movement. Moxie had the stride of a horse twice her size. Changing leads and cantering the other way, Essie felt something shift within her, felt all her resistance fade away, and with that came a sense of harmony that she’d been missing. She felt it all come flooding back, not the desire to compete, not the need to win or to prove anything, but the love for a horse, the love of riding.

  For minutes she let herself just ride, feeling Moxie move out underneath her, feeling her listen, until, knowing neither of them was fit, she sat down and brought her back to a walk, letting her stretch out on a loose rein.

  Hearing voices, Essie halted and slipped to the ground, taking the reins over Moxie’s neck and running her stirrups up. Stroking the mare’s face she whispered, “Apparently, Mox, everything happens for a reason. Mostly I’m not so sure about that, but I think when you were on that farm abandoned, neglected, forgotten, you were waiting for me. And I didn’t know it, but I was dreaming, wishing, hoping for you.”

  Hearing someone call her name, Essie looked up and saw Percy and Connie, Doddsy, Pete, Joshy and Aido, Francesca and Rob coming into the arena. Turning Moxie towards them, she heard Nick call out, “Ready for your first ride?”

  Stroking Moxie’s neck, Essie called back, “We are more than ready.”

  Heartfelt thanks to my publisher Linsay Knight who felt Moxie and Essie’s story deserved to be told and then guided them out into the world so generously.

  Thanks also to my editor Vanessa Lanaway.

  To the rest of the team at Walker Books, thank you for making sure Essie and Moxie go out into the world with everything they need to flourish and then taking them there.

  To my agent Margaret Connolly, thank you for your considered opinion, sage advice and for keeping the horses moving forward.

  Love and thanks to my dad and mum, brother and sister for everything xx.

  Love and gratitude to George, who understands.

  Jackie Merchant has worked as a designer, art director and copywriter. She lives on a small farm by a wide river in Tasmania with her partner, three horses, kelpies and a wire-coated dachshund. The Pony Question is her second novel.

  First published in 2020

  by Walker Books Australia Pty Ltd

  Locked Bag 22, Newtown

  NSW 2042 Australia

  www.walkerbooks.com.au

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  Text © 2020 Jackie Merchant

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without the prior written permission of the publisher.