“I am very pleased with all of you,” she began on a positive note. “Although River is the only one who qualified to compete in the regional championship, I have seen great improvements in all your rides since the beginning of the season.” She actually smiled as she continued. “Everyone placed today, congratulations.”
Throughout the summer, the junior and senior teams had participated in four other events. River and Meridian had placed first in the junior preliminary division in every show except one, where they placed second.
Katrina and Calliope consistently achieved decent dressage scores at intermediate level, but at every show her mare either ran out at a cross-country obstacle, or took a rail down in stadium. Although she did have clean rides today and placed third, she had not been able to achieve another qualifying result. Katrina finally had to admit that intermediate was either beyond Calliope’s capability or the mare just wasn’t ready for this level.
“I’m going to lease Calliope to the man who offered to buy her last year,” Katrina told Sierra before the show. “He wants to breed her, and I really won’t have time to ride senior year.”
“You’ll get her back then after she foals?”
“Maybe; it will depend if I go to community college or if I don’t go to college, what kind of job I get. My parents aren’t going to support her forever.”
Sierra could not imagine giving up Fiel, and so far, had avoided thinking about what she would do with her horse after graduation.
Sierra and Felicity steadily improved in their partnership. At each consecutive show, the mare shied less and proved more willing to settle into her work. Sierra believed her pre-show practice of visualizing her rides actually helped her to stay relaxed. She still had a tendency to grab reins when Felicity tried to bolt, but Sierra found she could at least quickly release her tight hold and then make herself sit deep, putting legs on, and push Felicity into work.
But in every event, it seemed Sierra would face at least one fence where she made a mistake in how she asked her mount to approach. Learning timing - how to count strides and rate her horse’s pace - was a skill she realized she needed to really concentrate on in her lessons at home. As promised, Tess began giving Sierra jumping lessons. The first lessons weren’t even over jumps, but over poles on the ground in order for Sierra to learn to count and rate Felicity’s strides; to tell the difference when her mare was working off her hind end or falling onto her forehand and dragging behind.
She still had a lot to learn, but the lessons were definitely helping. Today, for the first time this season, Felicity went clean in both cross country and stadium, and they placed third. But like Katrina, they had been unable to achieve the necessary number of qualifying results for the championship. For the first time in three years, she would not compete this September.
“Even though I didn’t qualify, I probably learned more this season riding Felicity, than riding better trained horses. I’m disappointed, but I am also very happy with how well Felicity did today,” Sierra confessed to River. “I hope Tess will let me ride her again next season.”
“Of course she will,” River said. “I’m really proud of how well the two of you did today.”
Sierra had a more successful season riding Fiel in dressage shows. Both she and River qualified for the regional dressage championship. River would ride Pendragon at Intermediate I and a Prix St. Georges freestyle test. Sierra would compete at third level.
*****
On Tuesday morning after the three-day event, Sierra stepped into the barn at her usual time, surprised to find the back door unlocked and the lights on. Turning the corner, she met River already at the hay cart. He looked up at her with eyes shadowed with fatigue but a broad smile on his face.
“I’m an uncle,” he announced.
“Laila had her baby?” Sierra asked excitedly, her own mouth stretching into a grin.
“Yes, a girl. Technically, I guess she’s my second cousin or something like that, but I’m going to be Uncle River to her.”
“Oh…oh my,” Sierra exclaimed. “Tell me everything.”
While they tossed flakes of hay to the hungry, demanding horses, River told Sierra how Laila had called him from the hospital just after eleven last night, telling him she was in labor.
“You’ve been up since eleven?”
“I slept some in the waiting room. Mrs. Marshall was with her all the time, even in the delivery room, and Mrs. Montoya was there for awhile as well. Laila said I could come in to the delivery room, but…” He laughed. “I was too scared. I got to see her right after little Megan was born though.”
“She named her Megan? I like that name.”
“Yes, and I got to hold her. Sierra, I’ve never been around a baby that tiny. She is so amazing.”
Sierra was very touched by the misty look in River’s eyes.
“Anyway, if you want, we can go visit them after chores tonight.”
“Of course!” Sierra readily agreed.
*****
Sierra trailed behind River when they entered Laila’s room in the Mother-Baby unit of the hospital. A beautiful room! It seemed the perfect atmosphere for a new baby, with soft, pale green walls with a complimentary floral strip of wallpaper, beige carpeting, and drapes that coordinated with the wallpaper. The furniture - the bed Laila currently occupied, two easy chairs, a rocking chair, small dressing table, and a bassinette – although hospital-functional, had been constructed of golden oak wood. The cushions on the chairs, the bedspread, and the quilt in the bassinette had been made in a floral print fabric in pastel pinks, greens, and blues.
River walked over to the bed and leaned in to kiss Laila on the forehead, and then the top of the small, dark-haired head cradled within Laila’s arms. “Hi, two beautiful girls.”
Then Sierra realized Laila was breast-feeding and her face flushed, knowing that River was close enough to see all.
“Hi, Sierra,” Laila greeted. “Do you want to meet Megan?”
Feeling very shy, Sierra smiled weakly and stepped up next to River, relieved when she saw Laila fasten the front of her gown.
Then Laila held forth the small pink-blanketed bundle for Sierra to hold. She took the tiny body in her arms, amazed at the lightness of the baby; and then stared mesmerized by her delicate, almost translucent eyelids closed in sleep, the fringe of dark lashes, the rosebud of a tiny mouth still sucking occasionally even as she slumbered, and the small head covered in fine, silky black hair. Without realizing it, Sierra cooed and murmured as she touched the soft, downy-hair covered cheek and then uncovered one small hand to finger the marvelous tiny fingers with perfect little fingernails. Again, without realizing it, when the infant’s mouth puckered to suck, Sierra’s own mouth mimicked the same action. “Little Megan,” she cooed and her shyness forgotten, looked up to meet Laila’s eyes. “She is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen!”
Laila laughed as she agreed, “She is, isn’t she?”
Reluctantly, Sierra handed Megan over to River when he held out his arms. But then her heart filled with warmth as she watched him gently cradle the baby and murmur lovingly to her. He didn’t seem at all hesitant to hold the infant, and Sierra suddenly imagined herself a mother and handing her newborn for the first time to its father, River. It was a scene almost too emotionally overwhelming and she actually had to fight back tears.
The new mother took advantage of her visitors caring for her child to slip into the bathroom. When she returned, Sierra gave her the present she and her mother had bought a month ago.
“This is beautiful,” Laila exclaimed over the soft, flannel-backed quilt in a baby animal print, and sized for a crib. “Oh, perfect!” Laila held up a plush, stuffed toy horse, laughing. “You two are going to try to make a horse lover of my daughter.”
“Only if she wants to be,” River said, smiling down at Megan. “But you have the Blackthorn blood and they’re mostly horse people, so I don’t think you’re going to object,” he whispered to th
e sleeping girl.
A nurse came in, greeted the visitors, and then proceeded to check Laila’s vital signs. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Dinner trays should be coming up any time now.”
“I could eat a horse,” Laila said, winking at Sierra and River.
When the food arrived, Laila showed River how to gently lay Megan in the bassinette with blankets tucked around her.
“We better go,” River said, helping Laila into a chair near an over-bed table with her dinner waiting.
“Thanks for coming to see us,” she said. “Sierra, thanks again for the lovely gifts.”
River again leaned over to kiss her on her forehead.
“I love you, River, thanks for everything,” Laila said.
“I love you too,” he said softly before turning away.
What? Sierra heard the words that felt like a sharp knife going straight through her from front to back. “Um, goodbye, Laila,” she managed in a falsely cheerful voice. She turned abruptly and left the room. He loves her? Thoughts whirled in her head making her feel light-headed. He loves her! Like a sister…it’s not his baby. Of course he loves her…like a friend…like a sister… He’s never said he loves me! I’m just a friend. She stumbled along the hospital corridor fighting back tears and with all the jealous feelings she thought she had overcome, rushing back in a painful icy chill down her spine and seeping deep into her heart. He loves her!
“Sierra, wait. What’s your hurry?” River called as he followed her down the corridor.
I will not cry…I will not cry! She knew if he caught up to her now, that her tears would flood over. She needed a little more time to suck back her sobs and compose her face. She made it to the lobby before he managed to catch her.
“Sierra, what are you doing?” River grabbed her upper arm as he came alongside, trying to slow her down.
“River, I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat,” she said, forcing a bright smile on her face. The last thing she wanted was food, and her stomach roiled with nausea at the thought. But River was always ready to eat and it was the best she could think of to disguise her emotional distress. She strode purposefully through the lobby and out the front door.
“Okay,” River agreed to her back. His hand had slid from her arm as she strode off. He stepped up to keep pace with her, mystified by what had just happened. She’s upset about something, but what?
They reached his truck and Sierra quickly stepped up into the passenger seat and focused all her attention on buckling her seat belt. Once accomplished, she turned her attention out the window, still trying to compose her emotions. She heard River slip in and the key inserted into the ignition. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wondering why he didn’t turn on the motor.
“Sierra, what’s wrong?” River asked.
“Nothing,” she replied, the word coming out as a squeak. She turned from the window but still couldn’t face him and dropped her eyes to her lap.
“Something’s wrong. What did I do?”
“Nothing; I’ll be okay in a few minutes.” She looked up with a quick glance, forcing another smile before dropping her eyes again. “Let’s go to Jenny’s Café.”
“What did I do?” River asked again, and this time, reached over to pull her hand into his.
“I’m just being foolish,” Sierra tried to explain. “You told Laila you love her.”
“Oh.”
Her heart sank and shriveled into a heavy, burning lump at that one word, and especially in the silence that followed. Here it comes; he’s going to tell me how he’s always loved her.
“Sierra. This is not how I wanted to tell you I love you.”
What did he just say? Not believing she heard correctly, Sierra lifted her eyes to look at the boy she loved and thought she was about to lose.
“I love you,” River said again, his dark eyes looking at her intently and reminding her of the large, deep look in a horse’s eye. “I care a lot about Laila, and I do love her, but not how I love you; I have never loved her the way I love you.”
He loves me…it’s me he loves! Sierra’s shriveled heart suddenly burst within her chest, filling her with overwhelming joy. The joy seemed to consume all the oxygen in her lungs and she sucked in several breaths before she had enough air to say, “I love you too. I love you so much.”
*****
Chapter 22 A Judge’s Decision
In the end, your horse is your judge. – Klaus Balkenhol
*****
Judge Delores Hanshaw stood outside her chamber door a few moments, tugged down the hem of her blazer, and then pushed her neat, gray hair behind her ears. She had just finished reviewing the case in her private office; that of a teenage boy and girl – the boy at age eighteen, an adult, the girl a minor at age sixteen - accused of stealing a horse. The circumstances she thought somewhat unusual, as it seemed the horse had been stolen not for profit or personal gain, but to protect him; an interesting case. She pushed the door open and walked inside the room.
The occupants all stood as she entered, although this was an informal meeting. A table had been placed in front of her desk and she noted the prosecution or plaintiff (depending on what she determined today) with his clients sitting on the right hand side, and the defense with his clients sitting on the left. A clerk sat off to the side at her own desk set up with her equipment. With a nod to each side of the table, Judge Hanshaw said, “Please be seated,” as she took her own chair.
Judge Hanshaw introduced herself, and reminded everyone this was an informal meeting to determine if this could be resolved as a civil case and out of court if possible. Then she turned to the plaintiff’s attorney, Brian Murphy, and asked him to introduce his clients.
“Thank you, your honor,” Murphy began. “I am here on behalf of the Clark family. Richard Clark is unable to attend today due to pressing business matters. This is his wife, Carla Clark.” He indicated a well-dressed, middle-aged woman sitting to his right, who gave the judge a tight smile. “These are the Clark children, Dean and Caroline. Dean is the legal owner of the property in question; he is nineteen. Caroline is sixteen. Dean bought the horse to share with his sister.” The boy Dean, a very handsome young man, met her eyes with an engaging smile, exposing a dimple at the corner of his mouth. He was exquisitely dressed in an expensive suit and tie. His younger sister resembled him in looks, but had not inherited quite the exceptional beauty of her brother. She nodded when introduced, but her expression resembled more of a scornful flip of her mouth than a smile. “Your honor, these two children have suffered extremely, and continue to mourn the loss of their horse. I would…”
“Thank you, Mr. Murphy,” Judge Hanshaw interrupted. “I would like to continue with introductions before presenting your position. She turned to the other side of the table.
“Your honor,” the defense lawyer, John Fields began, “this is River Girard.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of the boy sitting next to him, a dark-haired, closed-faced teenager, dressed in a white shirt and tie, not nearly as poised and elegant as the Clark boy. “He is eighteen years old, and the rightful owner of the horse.”
“Objection,” Murphy cried out.
“Mr. Murphy, this is not a trial. Please hold your comments until after the introductions. Mr. Fields, continue.”
“Thank you, your honor. Next to Mr. Girard is Miss Sierra Landsing, his co-worker, and next to her is her mother, Pamela Landsing. Sierra is sixteen and works with Mr. Girard at Pegasus Equestrian Center.” The petite, pretty girl, wearing a simple dress and her long hair held back in a clip, looked up with a sweet smile. The mother smiled as well, an almost identical expression to that of her daughter. “On my left is Teresa Holmes, Mr. Girard and Miss Landsing’s employer, and she is the one who purchased the horse for her training stable since River was only sixteen at that time.” The woman nodded with a neutral expression on her face.
Judge Hanshaw turned her attention to the petition in front of her. “Mr. Fields, you have requested a
motion hearing to examine this as a civil, rather than criminal case. I appreciate that both parties agreed to meet together today.”
“I agreed to meet, but I have not agreed to dropping criminal charges,” Murphy interjected as he began to rise. It only took a withering look over the top of her glasses from Judge Hanshaw to convince Murphy to keep his seat and close his mouth.
The judge turned to the defense side of the table. “Mr. Fields, you may begin.”
“Thank you.” Fields stood and cleared his throat, “Your honor, I would like my client, River Girard, to tell you the story himself.”
The judge nodded. “Very well.”
“Should I stand up?” the boy whispered to Fields, obviously nervous.
“Please stay seated,” Judge Hanshaw answered his question and with a reassuring smile said, “Tell me in your own words.”
River swallowed and then began, “I did take Corazón away from a horse show. I admit I want him back, but most of all I want him to be safe and happy. I’d rather go to jail than have him in a place where he’s scared and hurt.”
From across the table, Dean whispered harshly, “Thief; you are going to jail.”
Judge Hanshaw glanced at Dean with a withering look. “Mr. Murphy, advise your client to restrain himself from commenting, or else escort him from the room.”
In response, Murphy murmured something into Dean’s ear.
“Mr. Girard, please continue,” Judge Hanshaw directed.
“Describe the condition you found the horse in at the time Ms. Holmes purchased him,” Fields suggested when it seemed River had lost his tongue after the interruption.
In halting sentences, River told how he had acquired Corazón and the slow process of gaining the horse’s trust as he recovered from his neglected state, and finally riding the horse and eventually competing on him in combined training events. Fields helped him along with questions so that what he considered the relevant aspects of the story were presented to the judge.
For The Love of Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center) Page 34