CHAPTER 23 #2
I turned to look at Captain Wentworth, as if he could add something to the conversation.
And then I remembered my other reason, as compelling as any other.
I’d never admitted it to anyone, and had only begun to acknowledge it myself but there it was, the pink elephant in the middle of the room that I’d been trying to ignore.
I swallowed, trying to think of words an eight-year-old would understand.
“Because I used to be really, really good, and people would come to see me and they’d all cheer and clap for me because I was that good.
But now . . .” I shrugged, wondering if even I understood.
“Now I’m not great anymore. I’m probably not even any good, for that matter.
I don’t . . . I don’t want to get up on a horse again after all this time and find out that I’m just another rider. ”
Her delicate eyebrows were folded sharply over her eyes. “But, Miss Piper, I’m here now. And I promise to clap and cheer for you if you get in that saddle right now and ride. And then it’ll be my turn.”
I looked at her, trying to find a way to win this argument, and I realized that I couldn’t.
I turned back to Captain Wentworth. His ears twitched and his tail moved slowly from side to side, as if waiting for my answer.
His scar seemed more vivid, as if he were trying to show me that I wasn’t alone.
Or else you forget the reason you used to get up on the horse in the first place.
Had my grandmother said those words to teach us both about persevering no matter how many times you fell off?
And had she ever harbored hope that I could in turn teach her how very true they were?
In that respect I’d failed her, but maybe Lucy was offering me a second chance.
Without thinking, I checked the girth. The saddle would be small, but I’d manage. I picked up the reins from the ground and began to lead Captain Wentworth to the mounting block.
“Miss Piper—wait.”
I turned around. Lucy was standing, her stockinged feet in the dust, and she was handing me her fluorescent purple crop.
I’d always wanted a colorful one as a young girl, and my grandfather had always said no, that they weren’t for serious riders.
But there’d been one wrapped under the Christmas tree one year with a tag that read from both of my grandparents, but it hadn’t occurred to me until now who’d really given it to me.
“And this, too.” She ran to the fence surrounding the ring and took an adult riding hat sitting on the top rail. “This is Miss Andi’s—she left it here yesterday. It should fit.”
With a nod of thanks, I took the crop and the hat, then led Captain Wentworth to the mounting block.
I lengthened the stirrup leathers before placing my left foot into the iron, and before I could talk myself out of it, I threw my right leg over his back.
He stayed perfectly still as we both got used to each other and I fought the urge to dismount again.
I wasn’t wearing riding boots, so I was at a disadvantage, but I nudged Captain Wentworth into a walk with a slight pressure from my calves.
Lucy backed up and lifted herself onto the fence so she could watch me, just as she’d promised.
Today the familiar rhythm of the horse’s gait and the sound of hooves on packed earth held no fear for me; instead they were like a lullaby sung by my mother but forgotten long ago.
I allowed myself to be lulled, then squeezed my calves into his side a little more and began to trot.
Maybe this will be enough, I thought as I moved swiftly around the perimeter of the ring. Captain Wentworth’s long stride covered the ground quickly, the wind washing over my face and into my open mouth, making me realize that I was smiling.
“Nice transition, Miss Piper,” Lucy called out.
Yes. Yes, it was. I smiled more broadly and continued in a posting trot, feeling Captain Wentworth’s restraint underneath me and my own restraint in the tension in my hands on the reins.
I want to move. I want to soar. It was as if the horse had spoken out loud and I had shouted assent because I tightened my reins and signaled for the canter, feeling the horse reaching farther.
My body adjusted to the rhythm as if it had never forgotten how, my heart adjusting to the joy of it as if it had.
From the corner of my eye I watched as Lucy opened the gate. “I think he wants to gallop, Miss Piper.”
Unsure, I led Captain Wentworth in a canter around the ring twice more, but felt his pull, which matched my own.
We both wanted to run as fast as we could, as if the years of being tethered had only made us want it more.
Feeling as if we’d been meant to do this all along, I led him through the gate and pushed him into a hand gallop as we reached the fields behind Asphodel, hearing Lucy clapping and cheering as we sped by.
We ran until we were both covered in sweat, running until we’d outrun all of our demons and shed the ghosts we’d carried on our backs like a child collects rocks, heavy but without value.
We ran until the blood flowed in my veins with the same rhythm of the horse’s galloping hooves, and I could no longer taste the bitterness in my mouth.
Our energy expired at the same time, and I slowed him down to a canter and then a trot, then finally to a slow walk so we could both find our breaths. My knee felt sore, but not with the pain I’d feared.
We heard the clapping and cheering when we were still a good distance away and Captain Wentworth lifted his head in regal acknowledgment as he led us back into the ring.
I looked up in surprise when I realized Lucy had been joined by Tucker and Sara, and their cheering was as wild and enthusiastic as Lucy’s.
Tucker met us in the middle of the ring but didn’t wait for me to dismount.
Instead he reached up for me and I gratefully slid into his embrace, glad for his arms around me, which seemed to be holding me up.
“I can’t believe I just did that.” I pressed my forehead into his chest and began to sob, the tears cleansing me of all the regret and anger I’d collected since the night my parents had died and left me to believe that I was invincible.
I cried harder, remembering the grandmother who’d used her garden to try to teach me that I was wrong, that each year her blooms had to fight different enemies but if she kept the soil rich and firmly packed, and with the right amount of water, her plants would grow stronger each year, better able to withstand the onslaughts of nature.
And I remembered, too, that she’d never given up on me.
I cried, too, for a little boy whose only sin was to have been born at the wrong time, and for the women who would have cherished him had he lived.
Tucker held me until my sobs stopped and my shoulders weren’t shaking anymore. I felt his lips in my hair. “You were amazing,” Tucker said, his voice close to my ear.
I pulled back to look in his eyes, and saw that he was smiling. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
And it seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to lean down and touch his lips to mine, and just as natural for me to put my arms around his neck and pull him closer. It felt as if we’d found something we hadn’t known was lost, tucked beneath years of grief and regret.
“Get a room.”
We were suddenly reminded that we weren’t alone. We broke apart and saw Sara with her hands covering her eyes and Lucy looking away. Even Captain Wentworth faced the other direction.
“Where did you hear that, young lady?”
I could tell Tucker was trying hard not to laugh and schooled my own face to a serious expression, realizing he was being a parent.
“Cable television,” Lucy said, still avoiding looking at us.
Tucker nodded silently. “I guess I’ll have to talk with Emily about that.”
Sara ran up to us and tugged on Tucker’s shirt. “Can we go eat now? Odella made lemon bars today and she said we can’t have them till after supper.”
Lucy walked toward Sara as if getting ready to leave. I put my hand out and touched her shoulder. “Wait a minute. I thought we had a deal.”
She slid a wary glance over to Captain Wentworth. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“No. You need to get back on now.”
She swallowed. “I don’t want to.”
“Lucy . . . ,” Tucker began, but I put a hand up and he stopped.
“Why not, Lucy? Why don’t you want to get back on?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I’m tired, I guess.”
I went over to Captain Wentworth and adjusted the stirrups one more time before returning to stand in front of Lucy. “Why not?” I asked as I squatted down to eye level.
She looked down at her feet.
“Why not, Lucy?” I asked again, leaning toward her. “Because you’re afraid?”
Her eyes rose to meet mine. “I’m not scared.”
“Then get back on the horse and ride him.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Or else you forget the reason you used to get up on the horse in the first place, remember? I hadn’t ridden a horse in more than six years because I forgot. Do you want to wait that long to ride again?”
Her eyes skittered over to Captain Wentworth, then traveled back to me. “Were you scared?”
I thought of how I had felt perched up in the saddle, how the barely restrained power of the horse had made me feel powerful and in control again, and the frisson of fear I’d felt before I’d lifted myself onto the horse’s back when I thought that maybe I might be wrong, that maybe getting in the saddle again wouldn’t be enough to take the pain away.
“Yeah, I was,” I said. I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. Captain Wentworth is tired and wants a good rubdown and a carrot. Let’s not make him wait, okay?”
She looked at Tucker for intervention, but he gave a quick shake of his head. “Listen to Miss Piper, Lucy. She knows what she’s talking about.”
“But I fell off,” she said, and her voice held such surprise, as if she’d managed the impossible. She turned to Tucker, looking for sympathy. “I was riding Captain Wentworth, and I fell off.”
Tucker’s eyes slid to mine and I gave a little nod, and was relieved when he didn’t say anything, acknowledging that this was between Lucy and me. Although I had no doubt that he’d grill me about it later, and it made me want to smile.
“Yes, you did,” I said. “And it was a nasty fall. You’re lucky—you could have really been hurt.
But you need to understand that it was your actions that caused it and not the horse’s.
You were doing something you weren’t ready for, which is why you fell off.
And to convince yourself that you can get back on a horse, you need to do it right now or you might not ever.
That would be the real tragedy, wouldn’t it? ”
Her brow furrowed again, and I realized I’d used a harsher tone than I wanted to.
“Come on,” I said gently. “You only have to walk and I’ll walk right beside you if you want.”
With a deep breath, she slid her boots back on, then took my hand and allowed me to lead her over to the mounting block.
“I’m not afraid,” she said again as she jutted out her chin and stared at the large horse.
Without assistance, she climbed into the saddle in one quick movement, as if she were afraid that if she moved slower she’d change her mind.
“Do you want me to walk with you?”
She shook her head, grabbed the reins, and dug her heels into the sides of the horse. They ambled around the ring three times, Lucy’s face regaining color and the stiffness in her shoulders and legs relaxing into the comfortable rhythm I’d been used to seeing with her.
“You ready to stop?” I asked.
She shook her head again and did one more lap.
“Good job,” I said, helping her out of the saddle.
She surprised me by hugging me. I hugged her back and held her for a moment.
Then she cupped her hands around my ear and leaned forward to whisper.
“It doesn’t matter to me if you never ride a horse again, Miss Piper.
Because to me, you’ll always be the one who made me get back on my horse the first time I fell off. I think that makes you pretty special.”
I gave a half sob, half laugh and hugged her tighter.
Then we headed together toward the barn to untack Captain Wentworth and rub him down.
I stopped outside the barn for a moment while everyone else moved ahead of me and took a deep breath of air that smelled of fresh-mown grass.
I looked over to the alley of oaks, where only the towering tips were visible, imagining that they looked different to me.
The limbs bent softly in the breeze instead of rigidly defying it, the knobs at the base of each limb looked rounder.
I smiled into the growing night, understanding casting a gentle glow over the house and fields of Asphodel.
It seemed as if in defining the end of my own grief, the old trees had also discovered the end of theirs.
With a soft sigh, I headed into the bright lights inside the barn, leaving the darkness behind me.