Leap of Faith

by Fiona McCallum

  *

  Over the following week Jessica detected no further improvement in her strength or stability. The annoying achy, grating feeling was there when she did exercises and the shooting, searing pain when she bore weight. She continued to force herself to work through it and thought she was probably due an Oscar for the acting job she was doing in front of Steve and Tiffany. Her mantras, if anyone caught her wincing, continued to be ‘All good’ and ‘No pain, no gain’.

  She ignored the worried glances between her husband and her best friend. She was doing the best she could; there was nothing else she could do. She still desperately hoped to become pregnant and feel useful again, and have her future laid out. It’d be a nice distraction from the emptiness of her days and something to look forward to.

  The day her period arrived, Jessica retreated to bed. Steve brought her cups of tea and told her how worried about her he was; that she hadn’t been herself since the accident. Jessica thought he probably really meant since the horses were sold, but they were both careful never to mention that particular elephant in the room. Jessica tried to reassure him she was fine; it was just her period and the hormones laying her low. He seemed to reluctantly accept that and left her to her wallowing.

  As miserable as she was, it was good to be able to let down her guard and release some bottled-up emotions that were as exhausting as dragging around her damaged, plastered leg had been.

  Steve was being so kind, she felt terrible for not being honest with him. But she didn’t want him pitying her, didn’t want him trying to fix things, which would probably mean ruining someone else’s life by attempting to get the horses back. That was a done deal; she just had to get over it, which was proving more difficult than she ever would have thought. Where was her business brain when she needed it? If her father were here, he would give her a severe talking to – about everything. But he wasn’t.

  Jessica sank lower again at the thought. But she got up and carried on. She couldn’t stay in bed any longer, else she might just never leave. She dismissed once more Steve’s suggestion that she see a psychologist – didn’t they only ever really just point out what you already knew or ummed and aahed and said, ‘And how do you feel about that?’ No, she’d pull herself together sometime, somehow. A new thought struck her and she felt light-headed: If she’d given up eventing sooner to start a family, would she be pregnant now? Had she left it too late? Had her stubbornness cost Steve his chance to be a father?

  When Steve announced he was going to the first of a series of clearing sales and asked if she wanted to go along, she was surprised. She never went to clearing sales, mainly because she’d always been busy with the horses and whatever else she used to fill her days doing. She wouldn’t actually mind going and seeing different people, having a change of scenery, but clearing sales were Steve’s thing; it didn’t feel right to cramp his style. She’d listened to years’ worth of his stories of all the men standing around catching up and solving the problems of primary production and the world. It wouldn’t be fair to disrupt that. Anyway, he was probably only asking out of politeness.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m going to do the washing,’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’

  Definitely out of politeness, she concluded, given his easy acceptance of her answer. No doubt he’d be pleased to escape her for a few hours. She had noticed he spent even more time driving around checking the stock than he used to. He said it was because of the recent shootings; he wanted to be extra vigilant and make sure there were no animals writhing in pain anywhere. But Jessica suspected her gloomy mood – as hard as she tried to appear otherwise – might be rubbing off on him.

  Even Laurel and Hardy seemed to have given up on her and rarely ventured inside these days. She’d have liked to have believed it was because of the weather being so much warmer, but she was too far into her self-pity.

  Jessica waved Steve off from the verandah and felt her heart sink. She wished she’d decided to go too. This sitting at home day after day, looking out at the empty horse paddocks, was excruciating. A couple of times it had entered her brain to suggest selling up and moving, but she quickly dismissed it. She loved the place, really, didn’t she? And, anyway, Steve wouldn’t even consider it without a damned good reason. Just suck it up, Princess, she told herself, and picked up her phone to call Tiffany. She knew she’d neglected her friend of late. She hadn’t been feeling sociable and the less time she spent with Tiffany, the less she had to fight to keep from blurting out the truth. Tiffany had been busy with her new job and they’d spent a lot of time missing each other’s calls and then catching up on the phone rather than face to face. She was probably at work today too. Jessica couldn’t remember what days Tiffany was working; she’d been too wrapped up in herself for too long.

  Tiffany had also been busy with dressage training schools. Thankfully Jessica wasn’t expected to attend – she’d found the dressage championships too depressing. She’d thought it had been about not wanting to see people she knew, so going to watch Tiff and staying in the vehicle would be okay, but it had turned out that wasn’t the only problem. Seeing horses performing full stop was a cruel reminder of her failings.

  Now, when they did manage to speak, Tiffany kept mention of horses to a bare minimum, which suited Jessica just fine. She knew she was being selfish and cruel in not showing more interest in her friend and her pursuits, but just couldn’t seem to pull herself out of the abyss. She was also worried about her façade cracking under too much scrutiny from Tiffany. Steve was different – men generally tended to be less observant – but she knew even he was seeing through her act, and while he looked at her oddly he didn’t attempt to probe too deeply. Tiffany wouldn’t be so easy to convince.

  Jessica was disappointed to get her friend’s voicemail. She left a message and headed out for her walk. Today she aimed to make the highway and back, no matter what. So, with water bottle in hand and teeth gritted, she focussed on carefully putting each foot in front of the other. She took care to place her heel down first, ignore the searing pain and uncomfortable stretching of ligaments and assorted soft tissue and lower the length of her foot, then with weight on the ball, raise herself up onto the toes, then pick the leg up and move it forwards and go through it all over again.

  She’d worked hard – and painfully – to strengthen the side-to-side movement and lessen the risk of rolling her ankle on the uneven gravel surface beneath her. But still quite regularly she felt the grip of fear as she stumbled ever so slightly on a stone and held her breath, waiting to see if this was the moment she would end up on the ground, unable to get up.

  Jessica knew she was being far too melodramatic and worrying far too much, but the thought of snapping the fragile bone again, or worse, the other ankle, kept her worried to the point of paranoia. Doctor Grant had said it would heal stronger than the undamaged one, but she didn’t believe him. He’d been so young and, anyway, he couldn’t feel what she could feel.

  She’d much rather lock herself away in the house and avoid all risk, but a stronger part of her was a doer. Sitting around just wasn’t in her makeup. And the last thing she wanted was to end up with a permanent limp because she hadn’t followed the instructions of the experts. She didn’t want a lifelong reminder of this accident and to keep having to explain to people why she limped.

  Jessica hoped to both outrun her grief and disappointment in herself while healing. And to fill in her days that were now so empty. She often rubbed her stomach as she walked and silently pleaded, to no one in particular, Please give me a baby to occupy me. If she were pregnant she could busy herself with preparing a nursery and shopping for the little one. She knew it was silly and dangerous to put so much hope in something largely out of her hands, but it was all she had. She was a little wary, also, of wanting something too much and for the wrong reasons, but she chose to push that aside. She didn’t notice a few tears had escaped and were running down her cold face, which held little feeling thanks to the brisk morni
ng air. She paused, knelt down on the soft grassy verge and allowed herself the indulgence of a flood of tears of self-pity while no one was around to see.

  After a few moments she wiped the tears away with her sleeve, took a deep breath, stood back up and carried on. Enough was enough. How she felt was her own doing and no one else’s. She turned out from the driveway and onto the main road.

  Horses in nearby paddocks looked up from the grazing and stared at her for a few moments before resuming. They were used to seeing her out walking and no longer trotted over to the fence for a pat. The few times she had gone over to the fence she’d spent the rest of her walk going over past dressage tests and show jumping and cross-country rounds in her mind, which would come back to her in her dreams that night. She missed the thrill, the pride of achievement, especially on a horse she and her father had bred or stumbled across for sale, cheap. It had been their thing. It was over now.

  She just wished the memories would leave her alone too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jessica woke to the familiar, deep metallic rattle of the horse float approaching the house. She looked around the room, momentarily disoriented. The shadows were long outside and the sun had gone behind the house. She checked her watch. Four p.m. She’d been asleep for a full four hours! She was reminded she’d missed lunch by a painful gnawing in her stomach and sat up, stretching her leg out and rolling her ankle around. It was stiffer than ever. She should have iced it when she got back.

  Instead of pulling the horse float into the large barn-style shed to unload his clearing sale spoils like he normally did, Steve pulled up outside. Curious, she edged herself higher, put her forearms across the back of the couch and watched out the window as he undid the bolts on the tailgate and slowly lowered it. The dogs were wriggling about on the back of the ute, clearly annoyed at still being restrained. Usually he got out and set them free to check out what scents had been left on their patch while they’d been away.

  Jessica looked back to Steve and was stunned to see a wiry chestnut tail and the rump of a horse in the back of the float. From what little she could make out, it was a thoroughbred, a very thin one, by the looks of the poverty lines running down either side of its tail. It wasn’t huge, probably only around fifteen-two hands, though it was often hard to tell with them standing in a float. Her mouth dropped open and her brain began ticking overtime. Why was her non-horsey husband unloading a horse from the float?

  Perhaps he was doing Tiffany a favour and the horse was in transit, or something. Though, if that was the case, why wouldn’t her best friend have shared the news? Jessica felt a stab of guilt. It was her fault she and Tiffany hadn’t spoken much lately, especially about horses.

  Jessica sucked in a breath when the creature appeared. Jesus, it was one of the skinniest, scrawniest pieces of horseflesh she’d ever seen: its hip bones stuck out prominently and its ribs were clearly visible. Despite the bright sunshine, not a hair on its coat glistened. The tail, she now noticed, was not only thin and raggedy, but matted – most likely with faeces.

  It stood there with its head hung, barely even turning to take in its new surroundings. Jessica’s heart lurched. Who could let a horse get into that condition? Someone should have called the RSPCA. Should she? She was surprised the horse could stand up, being so emaciated. Surely it didn’t have any energy.

  Steve encouraged it forwards as he headed the few metres across to the stable’s day yards. She could see it could barely walk. He stopped and spoke to the horse, rubbed its face when it stumbled, tripping over its own feet. Jessica could almost hear his gentle, soothing tone as he looked deep into eyes that were most likely sunken into bony sockets. While he’d never had much to do with the horses, he was great with animals generally. It was the main reason their meat was so sought after – they had a reputation for their quiet, well-tended stock, all thanks to Steve’s affinity with animals.

  As mesmerised as Jessica was, she could sit there no longer – she had to know what was going on. She ignored the pain that shot down her leg and right through into the soles of her feet and stormed, as best she could, out of the house and across the turnaround area. She stopped far enough away from Steve and the horse so as not to spook it. God, it looked a lot smaller up close – probably only a shade over fifteen hands. And it seemed to be in a hell of a lot worse condition than she’d thought. Whoever had bought this horse and had Steve bring it home for a stopover during transit had clearly purchased it sight unseen. Bad move.

  ‘What’s this?’ she demanded. She hadn’t meant to sound so cold, so aggressive, but the shock at what she was seeing and the annoyance of not knowing what was going on had caught in her throat. The horse eyed her warily and shuffled sideways.

  ‘Shh, you’re scaring her,’ Steve said. ‘It’s okay, girl,’ he said, rubbing the horse’s neck.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s a horse, Jessica,’ Steve said wearily.

  ‘I can see that, but who does it belong to?’

  ‘Me, well, us,’ Steve said, and offered her the slightly boyish, lopsided grin she’d found so endearing all those years ago. Right now it infuriated her. She didn’t have the patience for the runaround. He knew he was doing the wrong thing bringing the horse here, otherwise he’d simply tell her what was going on, without the cheeky grin.

  ‘Well, mine, then,’ he said, standing straighter. ‘Come on, girl,’ he urged, tugging gently on the lead rope.

  The horse obediently followed in its uneven, foot-dragging shuffle. Its head was down and it cut a forlorn figure. Jessica didn’t think it would have the energy to object even if it wanted to. She felt herself softening slightly. She supposed they could spare some hay. And the stables weren’t being used. But she was stuffed if she was going to be taking care of it. Not when she hadn’t had a choice in the matter.

  God, what’s he thinking? In their six and a half years of marriage he’d never shown an interest in the horses beyond providing occasional assistance to her. Jessica found this shift in their roles quite disconcerting.

  ‘But you don’t know anything about horses,’ she called.

  ‘Well, I’ll learn, then. If you won’t help me,’ Steve said. She felt a twinge of guilt; all the times Steve had cooked her dinner while she’d been busy getting ready for events, all the times he’d done shifts leading colicky horses around, or sat and kept her company while waiting for vets to turn up. Not to mention everything he’d done for Prince and Beau and her since she’d been laid up.

  But this was different. She couldn’t provide hands-on help; she’d get sucked into the vortex of horses again for sure. There was something about them. But she was done. She was at a different stage in her life – she was going to devote her life to being a great mother to someone.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I couldn’t leave her there, Jess, standing at the fence staring at me like that. You didn’t see her, or talk to the old lady …’

  If it wasn’t such a serious situation, Jessica would have laughed. Instead, she stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. She almost shook her head sadly at him. He’d fallen for ‘the look’, hook, line and sinker.

  Her father had drummed it all into her early. Proper horse people learnt early on not to gaze too deeply into the eyes of a forlorn-looking horse: the pull to save them was just too great, and before you knew it, you’d taken home a dozen mouths and were buying feed by the semitrailer load. And you certainly never listened to the sob story of the owner. It sounded hard-hearted, but you couldn’t save every lost soul. She couldn’t believe Steve, the businessman, man of the land, a man who made a business of selling livestock for meat, for Christ’s sake, had fallen for it. It was almost laughable. Almost, but not quite.

  While he was kind to all animals, he was also pragmatic, being a farmer who raised stock to send off to slaughter. A huge part of his life was about not getting emotionally involved, keeping a professional distance and seeing the stock as a mass and not individuals wher
e the long lashes could too easily suck you in.

  Was she being too hard now? Probably. But if Steve had suddenly lost the plot and become a total sucker for a stray, which was what this seemed like, then she’d have to be the voice of reason. Someone had to be. And when it came to horses, she was the expert in the family. She’d been raised to only have the best stock on the premises. She and her father before her were serious horse people – there was no place for stock of dubious breeding or conformation. She knew it sounded snobby, but you had to draw a line somewhere. Otherwise you’d end up with paddocks filled with useless horses just waiting out their final days. Fine if you were the RSPCA or some other rescue organisation, but not fine for Collins Park.

  ‘I suppose we could feed it up and sell it on,’ Jessica said, thinking aloud. They might have a decent-looking thoroughbred, though a plain one, once the bones were covered. Its legs seemed long and straight enough from this distance.

  ‘No,’ Steve said, ‘she’s staying. I like her.’

  ‘But what do you know about her?’

  ‘What do I need to know other than that she needed saving?’

  ‘But why you, why us?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jessica, but you could at least be supportive.’

  ‘I am being supportive.’

  Steve stared her down.

  ‘Well, what if it’s been doped and turns out to be a dangerous nutcase?’ she persisted. There was probably a very good reason why the horse hadn’t been sold through the normal channels. Who sells a horse at a clearing sale with fencing equipment and farm machinery, anyway? Weird. She was finally starting to come to terms with not having horses – the last thing she needed was to see one again out of the window every day. It was all too confronting.

  ‘As if, Jessica. And anyway, dealing with anything with a brain is a gamble. We both know that only too well.’

  ‘You’re right. Sorry.’ Still, she eyed the chestnut warily. I guess you’re staying then.