Loving Spirit

by Linda Chapman

  You can do it, she told herself. You can.

  She turned the corner. As Gabriel saw the jump, his ears pricked and he increased his speed. ‘Steady, boy,’ Ellie murmured, taking a firmer hold on the reins. He’d been well schooled by Luke and he came back to hand straight away. The jump loomed up, massive, solid, mountain-like. Suddenly the fear faded. She saw where they needed to take off. She pushed Gabriel on, lengthening his stride to hit the spot. One, two, three …

  And they were over!

  But Ellie didn’t have time to even think. The next fence was right in front of them. She sat down in the saddle and pushed on again. One stride. Two strides and up …

  They soared through the air. As Gabriel landed cleanly and cantered on round the school, the breath left Ellie in a rush. Her adrenaline faded and she felt her legs get suddenly shaky, but she’d done it! Trying not to grin like an insane Cheshire cat, she slowed Gabriel down and looked triumphantly at her uncle.

  ‘Not bad, lass,’ he said and smiled approvingly.

  Ellie rode Gabriel up to join the others. Joe looked very relieved. ‘That was brilliant. You were awesome!’

  I did it, I did it! the words sang inside her head.

  ‘Right, Picasso and Gabriel have done enough. Swap back and take them out for fifteen minutes on the lanes,’ Len told them. ‘Joe, you stay in here. Barney can do a bit more.’

  Ellie and Luke rode out of the school, through the courtyard and down the bumpy lane, letting the horses walk out on a loose rein to cool them down.

  ‘You’re a dark horse then,’ Luke said, glancing across at Ellie. ‘I thought you must be scared to ride when you created so much fuss about riding the ponies.’

  Ellie shrugged and looked down at Picasso’s mane. ‘Yeah, well, you thought wrong.’

  She was pleased that Luke seemed to be looking at her with new eyes, but it still didn’t mean that she wanted to be his friend. She wasn’t prepared to forget the kittens or his arrogant behaviour, or his comments about Spirit.

  She could feel his eyes on her for a long moment, and then he laughed and got out his phone. The next minute he had started texting one-handed, completely unconcerned.

  Ellie ignored him and concentrated on Picasso’s neck, stroking his mane.

  She and Luke got back to the yard without exchanging another word.

  Chapter Seven

  Ellie was kept busy all morning. Her uncle told her to ride Milly and then Gem. Milly was bouncy, eager for action, a roller coaster of a pony. Gem was quieter and needed a lot of reassurance and encouragement, his eyes as wide as Bambi’s as he stared cautiously around the ring, seeing ghosts everywhere. As Ellie put their tack away, she thought how much more purpose her day seemed to have now she had Spirit and was riding the ponies.

  Before Stuart had his lunch, he watched as Ellie trotted Spirit out and confirmed what Joe had thought – that Spirit was lame in his left shoulder. ‘It’s probably the result of a fall or a knock. Let’s rest him for the week and then see how he is. If he’s still no better, then we’ll call the vet. But maybe it’ll right itself.’

  ‘What about his tendons?’ Ellie asked. She’d noticed they were slightly swollen.

  ‘Try poulticing them for a few days. There’s some kaolin in the first aid cupboard. Do you know what to do?’

  Ellie nodded. Her dad had shown her how to poultice legs two years ago. She saw him in her mind’s eye – his dark head by the horse’s leg, looking up as he gave her instructions – and she felt grief flood through her again. She fought it down, her hand methodically stroking Spirit’s neck, trying to hide her feelings. Spirit pushed against her gently with his nose as if sensing her unhappiness. She swallowed, focusing on him, forcing away the pain.

  ‘Apart from that, he just needs some good feeding,’ Stuart went on, shaking his bald head. ‘There’s more fat on a chip than on him. I’ll sort him out some boiled barley and linseed jelly. Plenty of good hay should help too.’

  ‘Thanks, Stuart.’ Ellie was grateful. Stuart could have been just as dismissive as her uncle, but he seemed keen to help Spirit and make him better.

  Taking Spirit back to his stable, she set to work grooming him. He was calmer now than he had been and let her groom him. She brushed his coat with a dandy brush and then detangled his mane and tail, pulling out the burrs as gently as she could. After that, she started on the hard work of grooming him with a body brush and curry comb.

  Spirit lowered his head as she pushed the brush over his coat again and again, cleaning the bristles every few strokes. It was quiet and peaceful in the stable and Ellie lost herself in the rhythm, letting the silence sit comfortably around them. When she had finished brushing his body, she ran her hands down his legs, checking out the lumps and bumps.

  Suddenly the stable bolt was pulled back. Spirit started in alarm, pulling the leadrope tight, his head shooting up.

  Ellie jumped to her feet. ‘Steady!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Joe apologized from the door. ‘I didn’t mean to startle him.’

  ‘Hush now,’ Ellie soothed Spirit, stroking his neck. ‘It’s only Joe.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘It’s OK. He’s just really jumpy. Something must have happened to him in the past.’

  Joe came into the stable and stood by the door, near enough for Spirit to touch him if he wanted to, but not forcing his presence on the tense horse.

  After a few minutes Spirit relaxed and nuzzled at Joe’s pockets, scenting the Polos that Joe carried at all times. His head lifted warily as Joe went to pat him but he didn’t move back, staying where he was to let Joe stroke his now clean neck and feed him a Polo.

  ‘It’s weird how he’s nervous of everyone but you.’

  Ellie nodded. She couldn’t explain it but she still had that feeling she’d had at the horse sale that she and Spirit somehow belonged together. She’d never felt anything like it with any other animal even though she’d loved Abbey to bits. It was the strangest, strongest feeling ever.

  ‘I think you were amazing to buy him and face Dad,’ Joe went on, watching them. ‘I hope Spirit gets over his lameness so you can ride him.’

  ‘He will,’ said Ellie with conviction.

  Joe looked worried. ‘But then Dad will make you sell him.’

  Ellie’s mouth set in a mutinous line, but before she could say anything there was the sound of the grooms coming back on to the yard. They should get on with some work; the last thing she wanted was to get into her uncle’s bad books. ‘We’d better go.’

  Spirit whickered, his eyes watching her as she left the stable.

  The afternoon was filled with grooming and tack cleaning, and Joe and Ellie had to get Barney and two of the other ponies ready for a winter show the next day. Ellie had hardly any time with Spirit, but as soon as supper was finished she went back outside.

  The moon was full overhead, casting a silvery glow over the yard as Ellie hurried to Spirit’s stable. As she pulled back the bolts, he stiffened. Ellie murmured reassuringly, wondering again about his life before she had bought him. What had happened to him? Why was he scared of the stable door opening? Where had his scars come from? If only she knew, then maybe she could help him recover.

  As she patted Spirit, she hoped he could feel how much she loved him and wanted to help. You’re safe now, she told him silently. I promise nothing bad’s ever going to happen to you again.

  She shut her eyes and lost herself in the feeling of being with Spirit. Her mind emptied, everything else fading away. It was a blissful feeling – to think nothing, feel nothing, just to focus on him.

  Both of them jumped when Joe’s voice broke softly through the silence. ‘Ellie?’

  Ellie turned. Joe was at the stable door. She blinked, feeling disorientated, not knowing how long she had been standing there.

  ‘Are you OK? I was worried about you. It’s getting late.’

  ‘I’m coming in now.’ Ellie rubbed Spirit’s nose and he pushed against her. ‘Night, boy.’ He whickered
softly, and as she stepped out of the stable the world seemed slightly unreal, as if she had been somewhere else for a while.

  ‘What were you doing?’ Joe asked as they began walking back to the house together, sending the yard cats scattering in the moonlight.

  Ellie shrugged. ‘Just being with him.’

  Joe shot her a sideways look but seemed to understand.

  She sighed. ‘I want to help him so much. I wish I knew what had happened to him – why he’s so nervous. It might help.’

  ‘Pity there wasn’t more information with him at the sale,’ Joe said.

  Ellie nodded.

  They reached the house. ‘So, what are you going to do now?’ he asked. ‘Watch TV or go to your room?’

  ‘Not sure. What about you?’

  ‘I should do some revision, but it’s Friday night and I can’t face it. Do you want to listen to some music?’

  ‘Cool.’ Joe had been lending her CDs and downloading tracks on to her iPod ever since she’d arrived. Educating her, as he put it, telling her about British bands while she introduced him to just as many new bands from New Zealand and Australia.

  For the rest of the evening they sat in his room, Ellie on the bed and Joe sitting on the floor, playing occasionally on his electric guitar but without it plugged in. He was only allowed to play it properly when Len was out of the house.

  ‘Here!’ Joe said, stabbing his finger in the air as they listened to a track he’d downloaded. ‘Just listen to the guitar break – the Black Squares are going to be mega.’

  Ellie laughed and rolled her eyes. ‘They sound like every other new British band.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Joe retorted. ‘Just use your ears and listen. I wish they’d do a gig up here, then you’d see how good they are.’

  ‘Not convinced. The Giraffes are loads better.’

  ‘The Giraffes? That band you played me last week? No way!’

  The conversation went on like this until Ellie heard Len walk to his room and go to bed. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was past eleven. Luke was still out in town.

  ‘I’d better go to bed,’ she said.

  Joe lifted his hand from where he was sitting. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Ellie smiled and slipped out of his room, making her way up to the next floor. There was a strange feeling inside her. She puzzled about it for a few moments.

  I feel … happy.

  As soon as she’d recognized it, the feeling faded to be replaced with an instant guilt. How could she feel happy when her parents were dead? But even though a part of Ellie wanted to deny it, she knew the happiness had been there, if only fleetingly, and she also knew that her parents would have wanted her to be happy again.

  For the first time since she’d arrived, when she went to bed that night she curled up under her duvet and didn’t cry.

  Chapter Eight

  Len and Joe headed off to the winter horse show early in the morning. None of the horses and ponies Luke usually rode were entered for the show – Joe had explained to Ellie that showing campaigns were planned carefully so that each horse and pony wasn’t taken to too many shows in case they got bored and lost their sparkle in the ring. Along with Barney in the horsebox that day were Fizz and Bill, two ponies who Len produced for his client Veronica Armstrong.

  It was very peaceful on the yard without Len around. Ellie followed the instructions on the board and schooled Milly, before riding out on Gem and then riding Wisp, a young show hunter pony, in the school. Luke was riding at the same time but they pretty much ignored each other.

  Whenever Ellie could, she stopped by to see Spirit. He was still very nervous, pacing back and forwards in his stable anxiously, only stopping when Ellie was standing with him.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she told him at lunchtime. ‘Really it is. There’s no need to be scared now you’re here.’

  But though her presence soothed him, her words couldn’t seem to reach him.

  He’ll calm down soon, Ellie told herself. He just needs time.

  When Len drove the horsebox back that afternoon, it turned out that the team had had a good day. Barney had won his open working hunter pony class and the other two ponies had both been placed.

  ‘It’ll be your turn soon, lass,’ Len said to Ellie as she helped unload the ponies. His eyes narrowed as he gave her a speculative look. ‘Picasso’s entered for a show tomorrow in Preston which Joe will take him in but then, in a few weeks’ time, you can start competing him. There’s a big show mid-March with one of the first Royal International qualifiers. I’ll enter you for that.’

  Ellie nodded as if it was no big deal, but inside she felt a rush of excitement. So she would be going in shows. She’d only ever ridden Abbey in jumping classes, gymkhana games and a few Pony Club novice dressage tests before. Going in a working hunter pony class at a big show would be a completely different experience. She thought about the pictures she had seen in her uncle’s magazines of champions being presented with sashes and rosettes, and realized that could be her and Picasso in just a few weeks. I’m going to practise as much as I can, she decided.

  But things didn’t go according to plan. The next day Joe and Len set off in the horsebox, with Picasso plaited, groomed and rugged up. His tail bandage was on neatly and his travel boots were carefully fastened. However, half an hour later, the horsebox came back down the lane. Ellie could hear frantic kicking from inside, hooves slamming into wood with crashes and thuds.

  She went down to the car park, wondering what was going on. As soon as her uncle got out, she saw how angry he was. He marched round to the ramp and let it down quickly.

  ‘Stupid flamin’ pony!’ he said, going up the ramp and swinging the partition across. For a second Ellie saw Picasso inside, rug askew and tail bandage in a heap on the floor, and then the pony reared up, snapping the bale string he was tied to and shooting down the ramp, only just avoiding Len. Joe jumped down from the passenger side and made a grab for him, but Picasso shied round him and cantered up to the yard with Joe chasing after him.

  Len stood staring at the damaged inside of the horsebox, lips pursed. The inside partition had been kicked to pieces. The leather padding was torn and there was a hole through it.

  Ellie knew better than to approach her uncle when he looked like that. She went back on to the yard and found Joe holding Picasso while Stuart checked the pony’s legs over for injuries. There was a slight cut just above one of his hind hooves, but otherwise the padded travel boots seemed to have protected him well.

  ‘What happened?’ said Ellie, stroking the pony’s lathered neck. She could feel the tension in his muscles, feel the stress radiating off him.

  Joe looked mystified. ‘I’ve no idea. We were just driving along and Picasso flipped. Dad stopped and I went to see what the matter was. Picasso was bucking and kicking like a crazy thing. We couldn’t calm him down and so just had to bring him back. There was no reason for it. He’s never liked travelling much, but he’s never done anything like that before. Dad’s mad about it. It’ll cost a fortune to repair the box.’

  ‘Is Picasso OK?’ Ellie asked Stuart.

  Stuart nodded. ‘Seems to be. Take him down to the trough and hose that cut, Joe. Ten minutes of cold water should help keep the swelling down.’

  Luckily, Picasso’s cut healed quickly and he was only off work for a couple of days. Len sent off an entry for the qualifying show in mid-March with Ellie named as Picasso’s rider. Ellie was worried what Joe would think about her riding Picasso, but he seemed supremely unbothered when she asked him if it was OK.

  ‘Definitely. I’m too tall for Picasso now anyway and like I told you, I don’t like shows. I do them because I have to, that’s all,’ Joe said. ‘If you take Picasso in, it saves me from a class. You’re doing me a favour.’

  Ellie could hardly believe he really felt like that. Going to a show seemed so exciting, but Joe genuinely didn’t appear to enjoy it.

  On Wednesday Len took her to a sa
ddlers where she was kitted out with a showing outfit.

  She stood in front of the mirror on the shop floor, trying to hide her grin of delight as she looked at herself in her new cream jodhpurs, brown jodhpur boots, dark gloves, dark brown tweed jacket, shirt, tie and new velvet riding hat. On the chair beside her was a pair of long black boots for wearing if she was riding the larger ponies. On the way to the saddlers, Len had explained to her that every class had its own specific dress code.

  ‘You’ll do,’ he commented now.

  Ellie smoothed down the jacket with a gloved hand – she was really looking forward to competing. She wished Joe was more into shows, so she could go home and show him her new outfit. Luke would understand, but she was hardly likely to go and show off her clothes to him.

  Instead, she told Spirit about the trip when she got back. Each day the bond between them was growing stronger and she spent every second she could just being with him. He was putting on weight now and his injuries were slowly starting to heal.

  On Thursday Ellie woke up to the sound of rain beating down on the bedroom window. Forcing herself out of her warm bed, she threw on some clothes. When she went outside, the rain lashed against her, soaking her hair and finding its way down her collar. She splashed through the puddles and went up to the feedroom where her uncle was giving out feeds. It was a miserable day to be up so early, and she and Joe exchanged commiseratory looks as they walked round the courtyard with the feedbuckets.

  The rain continued all morning, driving down from the mountain. It was too wet to ride and so the horses and ponies were turned out in the fields. Ellie turned Spirit out with some of the others while she mucked out his stable. She hated it when it rained like this. The grey sky felt so heavy it seemed to press down on the dull green and brown fields, and she felt like she was being squashed. It made her long for the summer in New Zealand where the sun shone on the large, rolling fields and the skies were wide and cornflower-blue.