by Suzanne Weyn
By the time Taylor arrived at Claire’s at the top of Mohegan Lake Road, the sky was awash with dusky blues and grays. Claire’s van was in the driveway and Claire was beside it. From inside, Bunny barked to greet Taylor. “Bunny and I are taking a walk in the hills. Want to come?” Claire greeted Taylor.
“No, thanks,” Taylor declined as she dismounted.
“What’s all that?” Claire asked with a nod at the bike.
“A saddle and helmet,” Taylor answered. Once again she was unsure how much she should tell Claire. Taylor didn’t want Claire to tell her that it wasn’t safe or it couldn’t be done. As long as Claire didn’t say not to take Pixie and Albert out for a ride Taylor figured she wouldn’t be disobeying. “I found this stuff,” she added. “I want to see if I can saddle Albert.”
“Don’t let Mrs. Kirchner see that you’ve saddled him,” Claire warned, sliding the van door shut and climbing into the driver’s side. “She’ll have a fit.”
“Okay,” Taylor agreed.
Claire rolled down the window as she began to pull out of the driveway. “I’d better hurry. There’s not much light left. Sure you don’t want to come?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. The other dogs are all inside, so they won’t bother you. Give yourself enough time to ride home before dark.”
As soon as Claire left, Taylor wheeled her bike through the gate into the yard. Albert walked out of the run-in shelter and came to her side. Pixie followed. Taylor rubbed his muzzle affectionately, and he responded with a low whicker. She petted Pixie’s coarse mane, scratching her crown.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Taylor told them softly. “I’ve found you both a great place to live.”
Taylor had mentally mapped out a way to cut through the woods on horseback — with Pixie following — and ride down to Wildwood Lane. The only time she’d be out in the open would be when she was in the field across from Claire’s house, and at the end of the journey, when she needed to cross Quail Ridge Road.
Unstrapping the saddle from her bike basket, Taylor wiped it with one of the white towels until it was reasonably clean. She shook the saddlecloth hard and dust flew everywhere. Pixie sneezed, which made Taylor smile. “Sorry, girl.”
“We’re going for a ride,” Taylor told Albert as she slid the halter over his head. Just before she’d stopped riding at Ralph’s, he had shown her how to saddle a horse. She’d done it once by herself while he watched, but she wasn’t entirely certain that she could remember how to do it without his guidance.
Taylor placed the saddlecloth slightly forward on Albert’s back, toward his withers. Staggering under its weight, Taylor heaved the saddle onto the horse, tugging it back firmly, and then secured the cloth to the saddle.
Dropping the girth, Taylor walked around in front of Albert — as Ralph had taught her — to fasten it on the other side. She made sure it wouldn’t pinch Albert’s skin by sliding the flats of her fingers underneath to check the tightness. Finally, she slid the stirrups down.
Taylor wished she had reins, but for now she had to make do by fastening the lead line to the rings of Albert’s halter.
The idea of riding him through the woods made Taylor extremely nervous. But she had to — if she tried to lead them both at a walk, it would be pitch-black by the time she reached Wildwood Lane. As it was, the ride would take about a half hour, maybe more. But she had no intention of going any faster than a walk. She knew there were hiking trails in the woods — the Appalachian Trail that went from Maine to Georgia even cut through in places. Taylor was counting on her memory of where those trails were.
Taylor took the old helmet from the bike. Its satin lining was ripped and flapping. Taylor tore it away completely and discovered a spider sitting in its web. “Enjoy your new home,” she said as she tapped it into the grass. Grabbing a towel for a final wipe, Taylor put on the helmet.
After opening the gate, she stuck one foot in the stirrups, swung her other leg up, and mounted. It took only a soft click to get Albert moving. Checking, she didn’t see anyone on the street, so she ventured out the gate, confident that Pixie would be behind her.
Once they were down the driveway, they had to walk in the street and past several houses before reaching the field. The clip-clop of hooves on the paved road banged like thunder in Taylor’s ears. She was sure it was alerting every house she passed that she was riding down the road on horseback. But no one came to a window or door.
Finally, they arrived at the field where they could cut a diagonal line to the woods. “Once we get across this, we’ll be hidden from view,” Taylor told Albert and Pixie encouragingly.
By shifting her weight and drawing in her makeshift right-hand rein, Taylor steered Albert into the high grass. “Good boy,” she praised, pleased that it took so little effort to direct him. As they got closer to the woods, though, Taylor became aware of a figure standing in a shadowy patch.
Riding closer, she realized it was Mrs. Kirchner and her small white dog.
The dog began its shrill yapping, straining on its leash.
“Taylor Henry!” Mrs. Kirchner scolded angrily. “Why are those creatures still here? Do I have to call the sheriff again? If I have to, I will! You can count on that! And the nerve of you, to run them right through our field. That pony isn’t even being ridden. It’s running wild. I do not want to be stepping in horse manure in this field.”
Taylor was about to say, Neither of them are running. But before she could speak, the small dog pulled forward so hard that it yanked the leash from Mrs. Kirchner’s hand. In seconds it was yapping aggressively at Albert’s ankles.
Albert hopped nervously, neighing. “Whoa, boy,” Taylor tried to calm him as she clutched the improvised reins tightly.
Pixie whinnied anxiously.
The dog kept barking as though it had taken up its owner’s threatening rant.
Taylor wasn’t absolutely certain what happened next, but she had the impression that the dog might have nipped Albert’s ankle.
The horse let out an angry cry as he lifted his front legs from the ground and stamped. For a terrible moment, Taylor was sure Albert was going to trample the small dog. Instead, the horse took off at a full gallop.
The lead line reins flew from Taylor’s grip. “Whoa! Whoa!” she shouted, desperately clutching on to the saddle’s pommel with one hand and grabbing a handful of black mane with the other. She hung on tight while Albert raced into the woods, crashing past branches, taking small leaps over rocks and logs in his path. Clearly, he didn’t like being grabbed by the mane. He swung his head from side to side to get her off.
They came to a narrow creek running through the woods. Albert screeched to a sudden halt, and Taylor flew from his back into the cold, running creek.
Icy water ran down the back of her jacket. It startled Taylor onto her knees, and as she came up, the chilly water spilled from her helmet, dousing her a second time.
Too panicked to worry about her fall or her soaked clothing, she looked around frantically.
Had Albert and Pixie run off?
Had she lost them?
Taylor was relieved to see Albert grazing on a bush a few yards down the creek. Why had he stopped so suddenly? Had he wanted to eat from that bush, or had the water spooked him? At least he had stayed close. But where was Pixie? “Pixie!” she called, making a gentle clicking sound afterward. “Pixie, here, girl!”
The woods rustled with the gentle sound of breeze-stirred leaves. The creek gurgled along. But Taylor didn’t hear any evidence of Pixie moving nearby.
Sloshing her way out of the creek, Taylor called again. This time, the sound of a cracking twig gave her new hope. A minute later, the little pony emerged, breaking through a cluster of boxwood bushes. Her mane and tail strewn with snagged twigs and leaves, Pixie whinnied to Albert as she trotted to his side.
Soaked and aching, Taylor was nonetheless deeply relieved that she hadn’t lost Pixie and Albert. The idea of having to explain to
Claire — and to the sheriff! — that she’d lost a horse and pony in the woods was just too awful to think about.
She saw a metal marker nailed on a tree and smiled. Taylor had accidentally stumbled on the part of the well-traveled Appalachian Trail that she’d hoped to find.
After a careful remount, a click, and a knee squeeze, they were moving once again. Taylor was pretty sure she could guide them through the woods that ran behind Mohegan Lake Road all the way down to Quail Ridge Road. As they moved along, she felt confident they were going in the right direction.
A cold shiver ran down Taylor’s spine, and she zipped her hoodie all the way up. It didn’t help much because she was still soaked. At least Pixie and Albert would have a proper shelter for the night if the temperature plummeted as, she now remembered, the weather report had predicted it would.
Peering through the trees, Taylor spied a path to her right that descended gradually toward Quail Ridge Road, and she turned Albert toward it. “Come on, Pixie,” she called with a broad wave of her arm.
Pixie’s ears swiveled toward Taylor and she moved once more. It wasn’t much longer before they reached the edge of the trees and came out onto Quail Ridge. After checking for cars, Taylor quickly crossed them to Wildwood Lane. “Almost home,” she encouraged the horses as they went down the dirt road to the ranch.
As she rode Albert past the faded sign, Taylor imagined she was a cowgirl riding into some deserted ghost town in the Wild West. She halted in front of the main building and lowered herself from Albert’s back. There were three-sided covered stalls that faced the outdoors against the right wall of this main building, but since Pixie and Albert were the only ones there, she decided to give them the bigger, warmer stalls inside.
Pushing the sliding front door once more, she tried something new. With her fingers to her lips, she whistled, curious to see if they would come. Taylor smiled with delight as they instantly walked toward her. “Good going, you guys,” she praised them. She made a mental note to bring treats when she came back.
Inside, the stalls were very dark now. The slats of light that had illuminated the place before had all died away. Only the last gray rays of daylight coming through the wide-open front doorway made it possible to see at all.
Taylor was suddenly aware that there was no hay, but the animals had been fed at Claire’s, so they were probably okay for now. They’d drunk a lot of water at the creek, which was good, since she doubted this place had running water.
Taylor placed her hand on Albert’s chest to check his temperature. It seemed normal. Pixie wasn’t sweaty, either. To double-check, she looked closely at Albert’s nostrils to see if they were flaring from exertion, but they weren’t. Neither were Pixie’s. They’d probably be okay until she could get some brushes and other grooming tools. All they’d done was walk, after all — if she didn’t count Albert’s short sprint.
Taylor knew their hooves should be picked clean. She lifted Albert’s back hoof and saw it was caked with mud and pebbles. With her finger she dislodged some of it, but she needed a hoof pick to do the job properly.
Oh, this is crazy, Taylor thought. What was I thinking? Where was she going to get grooming brushes, a hoof pick, hay, and oats? Never mind a bridle or a saddle! She didn’t have a job. Both her parents had already told her plainly that they couldn’t afford a horse.
As she was worrying about all this, someone stepped out of the office area and shone a blinding flashlight right into Taylor’s eyes.
“Who is there?” a woman’s voice demanded forcefully.
The light moved closer. Taylor shielded her eyes with her hand, heart pounding. What kind of trouble was she in? Could this be a private security guard or a sheriff’s deputy?
Albert whinnied anxiously as the light hit his eyes.
“Have you brought a horse in here?” the voice demanded.
The approaching figure was now close enough for Taylor to see. She was immediately relieved that the woman wore no uniform of any kind. She was petite and wore glasses. The glare of the flashlight bounced off the lenses, hiding her eyes. But judging from the rest of the face, Taylor estimated that she was somewhere in her sixties.
“Is this your ranch?” Taylor asked.
“It is,” the woman replied. “I am Mrs. LeFleur, the owner. And who, may I ask, are you?”
Before Taylor could answer, Mrs. LeFleur screamed and jumped away, dropping her light on the ground.
Taylor bent to retrieve it. In the flashlight’s beam she saw that Pixie was right behind the woman.
Mrs. LeFleur placed her hand to her head as if to assure herself that she was still in one piece. “You have two creatures, I take it,” she remarked breathlessly.
“She’s a pony. Pixie won’t hurt you,” Taylor assured her.
“A horse and a pony, I see. Well, why are they here?”
“They need a place to stay.” Taylor then gave Mrs. LeFleur a quick version of how she’d come into possession of Pixie and Albert. “And I thought this place was empty and I could keep them here. I didn’t know you owned it,” she concluded.
“If you had come here yesterday, I wouldn’t have owned it,” Mrs. LeFleur said.
“You mean you just bought it today?” Taylor asked.
“Inherited it,” Mrs. LeFleur corrected her. “I inherited it from an uncle, but I had to fight for it in court. Apparently it was about to become an unclaimed property because no one could locate me to claim the inheritance. It was going to be sold to pay off back taxes, and someone named Mrs. Ross was all set to buy it.”
“I know who Mrs. Ross is. My mother is at her place right now,” Taylor revealed.
“Well, she’s no friend of mine. I don’t like someone trying to scoop my inheritance right out from under me.”
“No, I guess not,” Taylor sympathized. She still held the flashlight, and she saw that the woman was looking her over.
“You’re quite young, aren’t you?” Mrs. LeFleur observed.
“Thirteen.”
“Are you usually such a mess?”
Taylor had to laugh at the truthfulness of the blunt question. Her jeans were ripped and her skinned knee was evident. She was soaked. Only a small amount of hair remained in her ponytail; the rest stuck out from under the horrible old helmet in clumps. “I guess I could use a shower,” she admitted.
“Indeed so,” the woman agreed. “Clearly you’ve had a time of it.”
Taylor’s cell phone buzzed, telling her she had a text message from Claire.
PIX & AL R GONE! W/U? CALL ME ASAP!
“I should have told Claire what I planned to do, I guess,” Taylor realized. “Mrs. LeFleur, how much would it cost to board Pixie and Albert here?” Taylor asked.
“Here?” Mrs. LeFleur asked with a note of disbelief. “You must be kidding! It’s in no condition to house horses. Look at it!”
“It’s better than a front yard with only an old pool cover over their heads. That’s where they’re living now. Before that they were living in a dark building where no one even let them out. This would be the best place they’ve been in a long while,” Taylor said.
Mrs. LeFleur sighed as she glanced indecisively from Albert to Pixie. “Poor creatures,” she said softly before turning back to Taylor. “I haven’t even decided if I’m going to reopen the place. There’s such an awful lot of work to be done.”
“It’s a great ranch, though. I can picture it all fixed up. My dad and my teacher both told me it used to be the best place.”
“Mmm,” said Mrs. LeFleur. “I remember it, too. It was wonderful.”
“Could I leave Pixie and Albert here at least for tonight?” Taylor asked. “It’s too dark to bring them back now, and I don’t have a trailer.”
“All right. Tell your friend where you are and that you have the horses,” Mrs. LeFleur suggested. “You should put them next to each other in adjacent stalls so they won’t feel lonely.” She shone her flashlight around.
“It’s funny you
picked that stall,” Taylor commented. “Look at the nameplate.”
“‘Prince Albert,’” Mrs. LeFleur read. “What an amazing coincidence. I think you should change Albert’s name to Prince Albert. He seems like a princely fellow to me.”
“I think I will,” Taylor agreed.
“Wait a minute,” Mrs. LeFleur said. She walked inside the stall and took off one of her chunky-heeled shoes. Using the thick heel as a hammer, she forcefully whacked a sharp nail that protruded from the wall. Then she checked for others.
“All right. It’s safe to bring your pony in here after you unsaddle the big guy. There’s no proper bedding for them in either stall, but they’re clean enough except for a few spiderwebs.”
Taylor ran the stirrups back up the saddle to the stirrup bar. She undid the girth and placed it over the saddle. Holding the saddle and the saddlecloth together, she moved them backward, lifting them off Albert. “Where should I put this?” she asked Mrs. LeFleur.
“We can put it in the tack room after you get these two to bed.”
Taylor steered Albert — now Prince Albert — into the stall by pushing him gently with her hand. As expected, Pixie tried to follow him in. It took some firm pushing to redirect her to the stall next door. “I’ll be back in the morning,” she assured them. “Be good.”
“If you don’t mind,” Mrs. Le Fleur requested as Taylor came out of the stall and latched the gate behind her, “I’d like to talk to you a little bit before you leave.”
“I don’t mind,” Taylor said as she began sending a text message back to Claire. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“I’ve been sitting in that dark office wondering whether I should sell this place or not. I was hoping for some kind of sign that would tell me what I should do — and then you and your animals showed up.”
“You think I’m your sign?” Taylor inquired.
Mrs. LeFleur nodded. “Maybe. Plus, you’re very persuasive. You’ve got me thinking that this place could have possibilities.”
