by K. N. Casper
Forty-five minutes later, while the kids were trotting figure eights across the arena, Ethan put the bareback pad on Ginger, a small palomino. He rode the mare around for a few minutes with the children to warm her up, then he had the kids dismount, unsaddle their horses and turn them out to graze.
On the dot of four, a van pulled slowly up the driveway. Everybody waited. A full three minutes elapsed before a woman emerged from the driver’s side, circled the back of the vehicle, removed an aluminum-frame walker and helped her passenger out.
Dark like her mother, the child had short pigtails with bright colored beads at the ends. She appeared undersized for her six years, thin and wiry, but even from a distance Ethan could see the excitement in her black eyes. She moved stiffly, swiveling her hips rather than flexing her legs, which weren’t quite fully extended. Her pace was ungainly, but she was determined. A smile lit her face as she approached the arena, her attention pinned on the horse tied up at a rail.
Megan led the welcoming committee, greeting Daphne like an old friend.
“You’ll really, really like riding. It’s fun,” she told the younger girl.
Introductions were made.
“I appreciate you doing this,” Shawna Jones told Ethan, her eyes a bit glassy.
It took Daphne some time to make her way to the palomino. Ethan introduced her to the horse, coaxing Ginger into a position so Daphne could rub her nose. The girl was reticent at first, but as Ethan knew would happen, the first touch was enough to fascinate the child. She giggled.
Ethan lifted her onto the mounting block, then jumped up himself. While Shawna helped her daughter balance, he swung his leg over the patient animal and moved slightly back toward the horse’s rump. Because Daphne’s legs were stiff and parting them was unnatural for her, Ethan and Shawna were very careful to take their time settling her.
Ethan came to appreciate the mother’s considerable strength as he gently lowered her daughter over the horse’s withers. With Daphne at last in place, he circled his arm around her.
“All right so far?” he asked.
Her nod was jerky. “Yes.”
“We’re just going to walk today, nice and easy. If it hurts or you get scared, you tell me, okay? You’re perfectly safe, Daphne. I’ll be holding you the entire time. Ginger is a very gentle horse, so you don’t have to worry. I have you. Nothing is going to happen.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Here we go.” He nudged the mare into a slow walk. Daphne tensed.
They began a wide circle. Halfway through it Ethan could feel the girl’s rigid body start to relax. “You doing all right?”
She nodded. He wished he could see her face.
They continued around a second circle, her mother encouraging her from the sidelines. When Daphne settled against his chest, Ethan wasn’t sure if it was from relaxation or exhaustion. His research had indicated fatigue could develop incredibly fast.
As they walked, he was able to see the two women standing on the side with the other children. Shawna was biting her lips, her eyes dark pools.
The mare moved lethargically but steadily, as if she understood the importance of what she was doing.
They completed the second circuit. “Do you want to go around again?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
That made him smile. He urged the horse into a third lap. Toward the end he definitely sensed fatigue in the little girl’s posture and called to Kayla to open the gate. He exited the arena and rode up to the mounting block.
“How was it?” he asked.
“It was fun.” He could hear her pleasure.
“I knew you’d like riding,” Megan chirped. “It’s really awesome. And Ginger is a pretty horse. I really like palominos, don’t you?”
Shawna was waiting beside the platform. Ethan leaned back, taking Daphne with him. On opposite sides of the horse, her mother and Kayla lifted the child’s legs in unison. Ethan swung her to the left and carefully lowered her, while from the ground Shawna buttressed her daughter’s descent. Once Daphne was on her feet and standing with the support of her mother, Ethan slipped off the right side of the mare, came around and gathered the girl in his arms and gave her a great big hug.
“You did fantastic.”
She nodded. “Can I do it again?”
He smiled. “You bet.”
He was about to let her go when he realized she was too wrung out to use her walker, so he picked her up and carried her to the van. Her mother ran ahead, opened the passenger door, then took over. Almost immediately Daphne closed her eyes and fell asleep.
“Is she all right?” Ethan asked.
“It’s been a little overwhelming for her,” Shawna said, “but she’ll be fine after she rests. Thank you so much for doing this.” She shook his hand vigorously. “Can she really come back again?”
“I wouldn’t lie to her,” he said. “I do need to evaluate the other children who want lessons, though, so it may be a couple of weeks before we can set up a schedule.”
“I understand. If there’s anything I can do to help... Oh, let me pay you—”
“No charge. The smile on her face is all the pay I want.”
A tear coursed down Shawna’s cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Ritter.”
“Call me Ethan, and you’re very welcome. Take good care of her, now.”
“I’ll call you as soon as we have a schedule worked out,” Kayla added.
Shawna kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll be waiting.”
* * *
EVEN WITH ALL the planting done, the vineyard continued to absorb all of Kayla’s time and attention until Megan got home from school. She looked out proudly at the rows of young grapevines, regularly checked the newly installed irrigation system and carefully monitored weed and ground cover control. The next three years would tell whether her investment had been worth it, whether it would succeed or fail.
On Wednesday she and Ethan dealt with a ten-year-old boy who had a serious case of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.
“Why is he on the list?” Kayla asked. “ADHD doesn’t seem like it’s in the same class with the other disabilities we’ll be dealing with.”
“It’s not a physical handicap,” Ethan acknowledged, “but it is a disorder that has the potential to benefit from horseback riding. I read up on it over the weekend. Kids—and some adults—with ADHD suffer from very short attention spans. With riding, feedback is immediate. Give a horse the wrong signal and the response is instantaneous—the horse does the wrong thing. No waiting for results, so the person has to concentrate to succeed.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kayla admitted. “Makes sense, though.”
She was amazed at the patience Ethan showed with the boy. The session lasted close to half an hour and while Ethan was firm he still managed to convey a sense of teamwork: we’re in this together. When the impetuous kid left, both he and his father were smiling. A good sign.
Friday brought Beth Meeks, a nine-year-old blind girl. Worried about her sense of balance, Ethan rode with her for a few minutes to evaluate her equilibrium. When he was satisfied she could handle herself, he let her ride alone, always at a walk, and was pleased when she was able to maintain a reasonably round circle.
During both sessions Megan, Heather and Brad were on the sidelines. To Kayla’s relief, her daughter ceased her chattering and observed, calling out encouraging comments only after the rides were over. Heather and Brad were equally respectful, perhaps because they, too, could associate with limitations.
Kayla wondered what Heather’s parents had been like. Clearly decent people, for the girl was well mannered and obedient and, while she didn’t show it very often, she could also be positive and fun-loving. Had she received any counseling after the accident? Kayla called Leona Rayborn over the weekend and asked.
“Probably,” the foster mother replied. “All kids brought into the system undergo a mental evaluation.”
“That’s not th
e same as counseling,” Kayla remarked, and tried to remember that it wasn’t this woman’s fault. As aloof as Leona seemed to be sometimes, living with her was probably better than being in an even more impersonal orphanage. “Does she ever talk about her parents?”
“Not to me,” Leona said, “and I’m sure not to Randy. Real quiet, that one. Does what she’s told. Doesn’t give me any trouble. They’re not all like that, I can tell you. ’Course, I don’t keep them if they give me a hard time. Got enough to do.”
“Thanks.” Kayla hung up and stared into space. Had no one helped the girl grieve?
That evening she asked Megan if Heather ever talked about her parents.
“I asked her once what they were like,” Megan answered. “But she said she didn’t want to talk about them. I was afraid she was going to cry.”
Brad was also beginning to be protective of her. Megan had recounted two incidents at school where he’d gotten into trouble for pushing boys who were taunting her for being so quiet. He certainly didn’t let his handicap inhibit him.
And what about Brad? He was more outspoken and self-assertive than Heather, but Kayla sensed he was holding a lot inside, too. Chances were the boy hadn’t received any more professional help to cope with his situation than Heather had. If anything, he probably earned disciplinary action for any rebelliousness. Kayla was willing to spend time with the boy, too, but she wondered if a man couldn’t help him more. She’d talk to Ethan about it.
Was she overstepping her bounds? She had no right to ask Ethan to play big brother or surrogate father. He was already doing more than his share by giving the boy free riding lessons.
Yet she was sure he felt the same way she did. She couldn’t remember meeting a man, including her father, who was more attuned to kids than Ethan. Some adults condescended to them. A few were overly protective, still others so undemanding and freewheeling that they denied kids the structure they not only needed but craved.
Ethan treated children with the respect they deserved while giving them clear, firm guidance. A woman could love a guy like that.
After Beth left, the children helped Carter bring the horses in from the pasture, and Kayla joined Ethan as he walked Ginger back to the barn.
“It went well today.”
“It’s been a good week,” he agreed. “We’ll have to see how the next three sessions go. Different challenges.
“You’re good with them,” he said in his quiet way. She closed the gate after Ethan released the horse and turned around to find him practically standing on top of her.
Suddenly he had his arms around her and was kissing her. She lost herself in the tantalizing sensation of his mouth on hers.
Then, aware of what she was doing, she pushed him away. “Ethan...” She was breathless. Her heart was pounding. His chest was warm and firm under her palms. “We shouldn’t...”
He backed off, but his eyes burned into hers and she knew he wanted to kiss her again.
The shame of knowing she wanted to kiss him, too, despite what Millie had told her, gave vent to anger. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
At first he just gazed at her, then the meaning of her words seemed to sink in. Hands spread, he backed away. “I’ll see you Monday,” he mumbled and retreated.
Her pulse was running wild. She couldn’t decide who she was more upset with, him or herself.
* * *
CARTER WAS ON HIS WAY to the tack room when Ethan stomped through the open barn door and nearly bowled him over.
“Say one word and I’ll punch your lights out,” Ethan snarled and kept moving.
Carter raised an eyebrow and frowned, then he saw Kayla emerge from the shadows. He scowled as she passed, apparently intent on finding the children. At least that was what he surmised her searching look was supposed to convey.
It would all have been very amusing, if he didn’t foresee an unhappy ending. Ethan had sworn off marriage, given up any hope of having children. Even if he were to change his mind about getting hitched, Carter couldn’t imagine Kayla being content with a childless union. She was young, healthy and definitely the mothering type.
“Stay out of it, old man,” he muttered.
* * *
KAYLA PILED THE KIDS into the car and drove down the Broken Spoke’s long driveway. Megan and her friends were chattering away about today’s new rider.
“She was nicer than that boy who came out last time,” Megan commented, making it very clear she didn’t think much about boys in general, except maybe Brad.
“It must be hard not being able to see,” Heather mused. “I mean, you can’t read or watch TV or anything.”
“She can read,” Brad countered. “Her books have raised letters she feels with her fingers.”
“It’s called Braille,” Kayla explained. “And they’re not really letters but little dots.”
“I wish I could read Braille,” Megan said. “Then I could read in the dark and when we’re in the car at night.”
Kayla smiled. “The next time you see her, maybe you can ask her to teach you.”
“We could all learn,” Megan suggested enthusiastically.
The others nodded.
Kayla dropped off the two foster children. She knew they weren’t really happy living with the Rayborns, but all her questions, direct and oblique, had resulted in the same answers. They had chores they were supposed to do and they got yelled at if they didn’t do them right, but they weren’t abused or mistreated, and the food was okay.
A quick stop at the grocery in town for a gallon of milk and a bag of rice to go with tonight’s roast chicken, then on home.
The light was beginning to fade as they approached the entrance to the vineyard. Kayla drove around the back of the house and took the dirt road that led over the hill to the vineyard for one last look at the rows of wire and the spindly canes she and her father had planted. Her trained eye automatically scanned the young shoots.
A tinge of brown.
She skidded the car to a stop, throwing Megan against her seat belt.
“Mommy, what’s the matter?”
Kayla jumped out of the car and ran to the nearest vine. Rust. No. Something else. She ran to the next row. The same. And the next. She darted between the rows and examined more leaves.
She snatched off small clusters from several vines in different locations, threw them onto the ground at Megan’s feet and sped to the house.
She called out to her father, barged into the kitchen and called again. He wasn’t there. Megan was trailing behind her. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Kayla dashed out the door and ran to the old barn, Megan following. “Dad? Where are you?”
Boyd stuck his head out of the workshop, rubbing his hands on an oily rag. “What’s up?”
Then he saw his daughter’s face. “Kayla? What’s the matter?”
“The vines!” she shouted. “Something’s happened to them.” She offered him the one she was clutching.
He peered at her, then at the tiny buds in her hand.
“They’re all like that,” she told him.
“This isn’t right,” he mumbled. “It’s not black rot, and it’s too early for Pierce’s disease. I don’t understand....”
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Megan asked again. This time Kayla noticed the child was beginning to wheeze.
“Where’s your inhaler, sweetie?” she asked.
“Inside.”
“Go back to the house and use it. Then you can do me a big favor by getting the groceries from the car and taking them inside for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes to start supper.”
“Why are you so mad?” Megan was clearly nervous, her breathing becoming more rapid. “What did I do?”
Kayla crouched in front of her and finger-combed Megan’s curly red hair. “You haven’t done anything, honey. And I’m not really mad. It’s just that I’m worried about our new grape plants.”
“Are they sick?”
“I don’t know
yet. Grandpa and I will have to examine them all very carefully.”
“I’m hungry.”
Kayla had to smile. “Well, at least I know you’re okay. Now go on up to the house and put the groceries away for me, then get busy on your homework. I’ll check it while I’m fixing dinner in a little while.”
Megan looked skeptical.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I won’t be long.”
Megan left but not happily.
Boyd had been studying the leaves while his daughter and granddaughter talked.
“Let’s see what we have here.”
They’d set up a small laboratory in an outbuilding behind the barn. It wasn’t very sophisticated, just a microscope, a few chemicals and test tubes for basic tests, mostly on water and soil samples, but also for identifying bug infestations, fungi and various other common bacterial diseases. If they needed more refined analysis, they sent samples off to a professional lab.
Kayla was searching frantically for an explanation. Her father was right. It was too early for Pierce’s disease. Cotton root rot? She’d never run into that particular soil fungus in the Northwest. Her only knowledge of it was from books, but she doubted that was what she was seeing. Besides, it was too early for it to manifest itself. A fungus she hadn’t tested the soil for? She was positive she’d covered them all. At least, that’s what the county extension service had assured her. A new bacteria? The possibilities seemed endless.
She and her father went around the back of the barn to the tin building where they also stored insecticides, fertilizers and other chemicals. Boyd switched on the lights, and they went directly to the microscope he’d mounted on an old wooden workbench. Positioning a leaf between two thin glass plates, he inserted the slide under the lens. With a frown, he backed away to let her look. She adjusted the focus and peered at the specimen, automatically expecting to find a fungus, tiny mites, larva or some other clue.
Her father removed a reference book from the shelf above her head, flipped through pages of color prints and stared.
Another quick check of the microscope and a comparison with the color slide in the book confirmed his conclusion.