Chapter One
Elle
Present
I read the rejection letter one more time, as if the words on the paper would have somehow changed overnight.
Dear Ms. Young,
I regret to inform you that after thoughtfully reviewing your application, our selection committee is unable to offer you admission to the University of Colorado Boulder’s class of 2024.
All aspects of your application, both academic and non-academic, were studied carefully and compared to those of the rest of the pool of applicants.
The most difficult part of my job is writing similar letters to thousands of students like you, whose accomplishments are promising and exciting.
I assure you that the selection committee gave your application every consideration, but because of an overwhelming number of outstanding applicants, we have to deny admission to a large majority of the remarkable students who seek admission to CU.
Most of our applicants are qualified to successfully pursue a program of study at CU; however, only a relatively small percentage can be admitted.
We are pleased to have received your application to our university. I am sincerely sorry to disappoint you, yet I trust that you will have other opportunities to attend another very good college. I wish you the best in the future.
Sincerely,
William D. Percy
Dean of Admissions
Well, there goes that idea.
Honestly, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that I wanted to pursue a degree in journalism.
My creative writing professor at Poplar Falls Community College had been impressed by a few of my assignments and thought that perhaps journalism was an avenue I should pursue.
She even had a few of my articles published in the local newspapers.
It was exciting, seeing my work in print, but truth be told, I’d had to pull those papers out of me with a crowbar.
The investigation and research elements hadn’t felt natural.
The last thing I want to do is pursue a career that doesn’t hold my interest.
I toss the letter onto my nightstand, slide on a pair of pajama pants, and head out in search of breakfast.
Aunt Doreen is standing at the sink, rinsing a stack of plates, and she turns to say, “Good morning,” as I enter the kitchen.
The smile falls from her lips as she takes me in.
“What’s the matter?” she asks with concern evident in her voice.
“Oh, not much. I’m just trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life and coming up completely blank; that’s all. Nothing important,” I answer as I plop down in a chair at the table in a dramatic fashion.
She wipes her hands on her apron, grabs a clean plate from the cupboard, and sets it down in front of me. “Well, such big decisions shouldn’t be contemplated on an empty stomach,” she says as she pats my shoulder and motions toward the platters in the center of the large table.
I stand and begin to stack my plate with pancakes and bacon while she pours a cup of coffee for us both and sits down opposite me.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me, Aunt Doreen.
I graduated high school six years ago. All of my classmates either went away to college or got married and started popping out babies right away.
Neither of those options appealed to me at the time.
I figured I’d take a little time off and eventually end up in vet tech school or cosmetology school.
I tried both of those, and we know how that turned out.
Now, I can’t decide if I want to give this writing thing a whirl.
And if I do, do I want to be a journalist or a novelist or write jingles for advertisers?
All of those are very different pursuits.
I mean, I’m twenty-four years old. Shouldn’t I know—truly know—what I want by now?
” I explain as she patiently sits tight for me to get it all out.
I sit back in my seat with a huff, shove a piece of bacon into my mouth, and wait.
She doesn’t give me an answer. She gives me a question. “What do you think your gift is?”
“My what?”
“Your gift. For instance, Sophie’s is drawing, and she spun that into a jewelry design business.
Madeline’s is horseback riding, and she turned that into her equine therapy business.
If you determine what your gift is, then you can ask yourself how you can turn that into a purpose and a career, and you will have your answer. ”
She makes it sound so simple.
“Maybe I don’t have a gift.” I shrug.
“Of course you do. God gives us all a gift. It’s that thing inside of you that you do with the least amount of exertion.
Ria has the gift of a green thumb. She can make anything grow and produce an abundance.
And she enjoys it. She could tool around in that garden all day long.
It brings her joy. Now, me, on the other hand, I can barely keep houseplants alive.
I’ve tried to plant flowers and vegetables, and everything I sow dies a miserable death.
I just don’t have the gift your aunt Ria does, so I don’t waste my time trying anymore. I leave that up to her,” she clarifies.
How do I know what my gift is? I love animals and thought that was it, but when I started vet tech school, I realized that I didn’t have the heart to take care of sick ones.
I just cried every single time one was brought in and diagnosed with cancer or diabetes.
I got so freaked out when Mrs. Baker’s cat had a seizure that I had to run from the room.
Then, I thought about beauty school because I loved everything about hair and makeup and fashion, but a couple of weeks of working at Janelle’s Big Hair Beauty Salon as her hair-wash girl, and I realized that I didn’t like being that up close and personal with other people.
Besides, I don’t know how Janelle puts up with all the griping and fussing of dissatisfied customers.
It’s the truth. The day I told one of our customers, Tina Massey, that Janelle was a hairdresser, not a magician, was the day Janelle and I both decided that beauty school was probably not the best choice for me.
“You think maybe you could ask God what my gift is because I’m clueless?” I muse.
She sighs. “God never made a biscuit,” is her confusing answer.
“Huh?”
“You don’t go asking God to do things you can do for yourself.
He wants you to put in some effort. He’s not a genie.
You want biscuits? Well, he made fields of wheat and he made cows that supply milk and he gave you two hands.
It’s up to us to take the resources he created, use a little elbow grease, and make the dough.
He will not do for you what you can do for yourself. ”
“I think I’m a dud, Aunt Doe. I don’t have any idea what my gift is,” I confess.
“You’ll know when you know. Don’t be in a hurry and rush into something you’ll regret.
Waking up every morning and dreading the alarm clock going off because of what you have to get up to do is a miserable way to live, and there are a lot of miserable people walking around because they’ve chosen a life they weren’t supposed to be living in the first place.
You have time to figure it out.” She pats my hand and gets up to finish the dishes.
I suppose she’s right, but I’m getting restless. I want to live my dream. I just don’t know what that dream is exactly, and I don’t know where to start or how to go about determining where to go from here.
Aunt Madeline walks in, carrying a notebook and looking a bit frantic. “Elle, honey, do you think you could help me for a bit this afternoon?” she asks.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I have three siblings coming in for riding lessons, and Chloe called in sick. I can’t do all three alone because the youngest two have never ridden before, and the baby is special needs. I’ll have to be one-on-one with him.”
Chloe is married to Silas, one of Rustic Peak’s ranch hands, and she works full-time for Aunt Madeline.
“What time will they get here?” I ask.
“They should arrive at one.”
I look at the clock above the stove. “I’ll take a quick shower and meet you down at the stables by twelve thirty to get everything ready.”
She sighs in relief. “Thank you, sweetheart. I was panicking.”
“No problem at all,” I reassure her.
I finish my breakfast and head to dress for the day. Spending the afternoon helping Aunt Madeline is exactly what the doctor ordered to get me out of my funk and my mind off of my lack of direction in life.
I pull on my riding boots and head out to the stables. When I walk into the barn, I find my big brother, Braxton, and Walker, the ranch’s head wrangler, helping Aunt Madeline saddle up a couple of older, retired ranch ponies.
“Hey, Elle,” Braxton greets me as he leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Hey. Looks like you two got roped into helping out too,” I surmise.
“Yep, just helping get these girls saddled up before we head to the house for lunch,” he answers before looking over to Walker. “I have this one ready. I’m going to take her out to the corral,” he says before leading the horse out.
I walk over and pet the long nose of the soft gray mare that Walker is throwing a saddle blanket over.
The animal whinnies and nuzzles into my touch.
“She likes you,” Walker says as he turns to grab the saddle and hoists it up over her back.
“The feeling is mutual,” I say to the horse as I lay my forehead against her muzzle.
After a few seconds, I look up to see Walker watching me.
“What?”
“Just jealous of the horse. I mean, what does a guy have to do to get some lovin’ around here?” he teases.
I laugh off his remark and round the animal. Rising up on the toe of my boots, I press a kiss to his jaw. He smiles a triumphant smile.
“That’s more like it,” he says as he adjusts the saddle and secures it.
Braxton walks back in, followed by Aunt Madeline.
“Thank you so much for the help, guys. I guess it’s time to start looking at hiring a few more people.”
Business has been booming for her ever since The Denver Post published an article, singing the praises of her equine therapy classes.
Parents come from far and wide, seeking not only riding lessons, but also Aunt Madeline’s specialized hippotherapy for their children with special needs.
She used to be a full-time veterinarian student in Denver before our parents’ accident sent Braxton and me barreling headfirst into her life and changed all her plans.
She married Jefferson, moved out to Poplar Falls, and took in Braxton and me.
In the years that followed, she fell in love with teaching riding to adult beginners and children, and that led to her getting her degree in occupational therapy.
If she ever felt like she’d missed out on something, she never let us feel that.
She was definitely meant to be doing what she does. She has a way with both children and horses. It’s beautiful to behold.
“I can help until you find the right people,” I offer.
“I appreciate that. The last thing I want to do is start turning people away.”
“This girl here is ready to go,” Walker says.
I take her reins from him. “I’ve got her. Thanks.”
He gives me a wink as he releases her to me, and I lead her out just as three little humans come running up to the fence.
“Elle, this is Mary Kearny, and these are our special pupils for today—Melinda, Bryson, and Xander,” Aunt Madeline introduces.
“It’s nice to meet you guys,” I say as I bend to their level to say hello.
Both Melinda and Bryson greet me, but Xander just watches the horses through the fence without making eye contact.
“Xander is autistic, and he is nonverbal,” Mary explains.
I look at him and smile. “That’s okay. Talking is overrated anyway when riding. You don’t need anything but you, your horse, and the silence, huh, buddy?” I say to Xander, and he cuts his eyes to me for a brief second before he runs off in the direction of the corral gate.
Their mother says her good-byes, and we round up the children, get them outfitted with helmets, and check their footwear.
Then, we make sure they each have a good saddle fit.
Once we have them settled with their ponies, I man the reins of the older two as they learn to bring their mounts to a walk or trot while Aunt Madeline takes Xander in his own round pen and gets him acquainted with his mare.
He was skeptical when they first arrived, but as he is slowly introduced to Polly—an older mare that retired from ranch work a few years ago—I can see him start to settle. It’s an amazing thing to watch.
The awe on the faces of his siblings as I walk them around the pen reminds me of the excitement I felt while watching Jefferson and Pop with the horses when I was a little girl.
I was always on their heels, begging for them to take me for a ride.
There is just something magical between children and horses.
We spend the next hour with these little angels before their time is up for the day.
Both Melinda and Bryson did well and followed my instructions easily.
Xander’s time was spent more getting to know the horse.
I watched as he placed his hands on the horse’s sides and then laid his head against her ribs.
As if he were soaking in her energy. It was intimate and calming and somehow cathartic for him as they bonded and built trust. This fascinated me.
We get them settled in Mary’s car and have them off before the second round of students arrives.
It’s so much fun that the afternoon flies by.