by Nancy Loyan
She looked out over the large rectangular space, watching young women in riding gear and helmets practicing jumps.
“Those are some of the Equestriennes, the women’s competition jumping team at practice,” he explained. “They have their own coach. I sometimes help out.”
“The surface isn’t dusty.”
“Very observant. It’s high-maintenance sand and clay. It’s fluffed up for jumping and patted down for polo and garrison.”
“Is there anything that hasn’t been thought of?”
“I’m sure I can think of something … or you can.”
“You love it here, don’t you, Travis?”
“Yes, I really do. It’s not just a job, it’s a lifestyle. Hungry?”
“I am. It’s been a long day.”
“Ever eat in a mess hall?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
* * *
They had a hearty lunch, complete with entrée, salad, and dessert bar in a mess hall that was hardly a mess. The architecture of the Lay Dining Center was far more grand than most five-star restaurants, with fine marble walls and support pillars. Black and white tile covered the floor. Stained glass skylights divided the tall, coffered ceiling. Sconces lined the walls.
“Are you sure this is just a high school?” she asked, as they dined at a long rectangular table, surrounded by uniformed cadets and employees.
“Yep, just a fancy one.”
“You must be the child of a millionaire to attend.”
“It’s expensive, but scholarships are available. Culver isn’t an easy school to get accepted to admission. It takes more than money. You have to be academically gifted, and it’s competitive. Once matriculated, the education is one of the finest in the country. Students come from around the world.”
“You were a student here, weren’t you?”
He nodded. “And it’s too bad it isn’t my reunion year, or I’d show you how fancy this place gets. I’m very proud to be an alumnus and an instructor. I’ve gone full circle and it’s an honor.”
“I can see why.” Yes, this was his world, a world where he belonged.
She belonged on her farm in the Michigan countryside, with her quaint home, rickety barns, overgrown pastures, and animals. He instructed spoiled wealthy children, while she would teach the disabled and less fortunate. She was a stray like her animals. while he was a thoroughbred like his. Their differences struck her again, as she sat watching him eat, his manners as impeccable as his appearance.
“So, this is where you hang out when not in the stables,” The woman’s voice startled her from her thoughts.
A thin, petite brunette stood by their table, her intense gaze focused on Travis. With her perfectly oval face, patrician nose, dark eyes, pouty lips, and elegant manner, she was also a thoroughbred.
Travis looked up. “Penelope.”
Oh, so this was the fiancé? Of course, she looked the part.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I thought I’d come and attend your polo match. I never saw you play here, in your element.” Turning toward her, “Are you one of the stable hands?”
Shelby cringed. Did she look like a stable hand? Maybe her attire wasn’t Lilly Pulitzer, but she was wearing a neatly pressed pair of khaki’s, chambray blouse, and sterling silver and turquoise jewelry she had purchased out West years before.
“Pen, This is Shelby, an expert horsewoman, also attending the polo match.”
“I see. Am I the only person who doesn’t find charm in horses?” Pen arched her shaped and penciled eyebrows. “Oh, Travis, there is so much to do and so little time. The wedding is around the corner and you’re still fooling around here”
“You’ll have to get used to it. Culver and horses are my life.”
“When we move to Lexington, you’ll have staff, and I will be your life.” She bent and kissed Travis’s cheek.
Claiming ownership. What was a decent guy like Travis doing with this uppity, possessive, and seemingly high-maintenance girl? She noticed how Pen focused her attention on Travis, ignoring her as if she were the insignificant hired help. She rose, picking up her tray of empty dishes.
“Thank you for treating me to lunch, Mr. Harrington,” she said. “It was a pleasure talking about horses. I’m looking forward to the parade and the polo match. Nice meeting you, Miss.”
“Shelby?” Travis called, as she turned to leave.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find my way around. I have a campus map.” She forced a smile, and walked away as quickly as she could. After getting rid of her tray, she was going to get off the campus and go into town for a much-needed cold beer.
11
“We welcome you to the Alumni Weekend Parade,” the announcer’s voice boomed through the outdoor loudspeakers.
The Pass and Review, held on the James A. Henderson Parade Field, was the highlight of alumni weekend.
Travis stood in the reviewing stand with the Head of Schools, Commandant of the Military Academy, head of the Girl’s Academy, and other academics and dignitaries. Instead of his mind being focused on his troop, it was on Shelby, who was seated somewhere in the bleachers among the throngs of families. Having her present meant more than he realized. Never had he felt such pride, as when he provided her a tour of the Equestrian Center, and the Academy grounds. Sharing an integral part of his life with her was special and comfortable. She had shared so much of her life with him, that it seemed fitting.
Her sincerity in wanting to repay him for securing the future of her farm, and turning her dreams into reality made him swallow hard, with a catch in his throat. Unlike many women who would have taken the money without thanks, she wanted to pay him back with interest. Hell, she already had his interest. At lunch, there was so much he wanted to discuss with her. He longed to hear her ideas and opinions.
Penelope had to make a surprise visit and ruin the moment. What the hell? She rarely visited Culver, loathed the place, and wanted to be as far away as possible. After Shelby left, Pen ranted on about wedding plans: Mommy this, and Daddy that. She was planning a spectacle, and not a damn wedding. You didn’t need twelve bridesmaids and groomsmen, six flower girls, a ring bearer, and a gilded carriage in order to get married. Wasn’t marriage all about two people in love? Wasn’t it their day? What was with this spare no expense gala for a bunch of phony friends and the press? Was a spread in Town and Country worth more than committing to a shared life with solemn and sacred vows? Somehow, the meaning of love was lost somewhere along the line.
What actually was love? Was he in love with Penelope, or just playing by the rules of his upbringing? Was she in love with him, or just in love with the spectacle, and status of marriage?
Shit, maybe he was just having cold feet, as most grooms-to-be probably suffered. Yet, the voice in his head kept telling him that marrying Penelope would be the greatest mistake in his life. The worst part was that the first person he thought of in the morning was Shelby, and she was the last person he thought of before he fell asleep. It was her face, and not Pen’s that he envisioned. When she was away, he missed Shelby. Seeing Pen offered not so much as a heart flutter. Wasn’t he supposed to be happy to see his fiancé? Weren’t you supposed to be crazy about the woman you were set to marry? Yes, marrying Penelope was the right thing to do within his social and family circle, but was she the right woman for him?
He had to hold himself together. This was a big day. This was a big event, the garrison parade featuring alumni, especially the 50th anniversary class, at the annual reunion. Everyone and everything had to be perfect.
The Drum Corp had already marched passed, still on beat. The Culver Military Band, performing the Culver song, marched by in their crisp white pants and light blue uniform jackets. After, the color guard marched by to salutes, followed by the women’s flag corps, burnishing flags from every country represented in the student body.
“Travis,” the Director of Operations whispered. “The Troop’s approachin
g.”
Travis knew that something was wrong. He didn’t need this at the Garrison Parade on alumni weekend. The Black Horse Troop was in perfect formation, but the young men on horseback were fidgeting and wincing. Their eyes focused on the Equestrian Center behind Travis. Actually, everyone on the parade field was staring at the Center. Voices and gasps erupted from the crowd of parents and alumni in the stands. Some pointed. Others laughed. Most aimed their cell phone cameras. Something was amiss and he could not get out of order to look back.
Shit.
After the Troop passed, he turned slightly and glanced over his shoulder. Instead of the Culver flag, someone had hoisted a large purple bra up the flagpole at the Center, and it waved in the spring breeze with a provocative salute. Heads would roll, and he sure hoped one of them wasn’t his. The student or students who pulled this stunt would pay dearly. He’d make sure of it.
What had begun as a special day with Shelby’s surprise visit was turning into the day from hell. First, Penelope and, now, this! He still had a parade exhibition on the field, and a polo match to play. Heaven help him.
* * *
The wide expanse of lawn overlooking Lake “Max” was the setting for the weekly Garrison Parade. It was more than just alumni and students marching in a line. It was a spectacle of military precision set to music. Rehearsals took place rain or shine throughout the school year as a show of discipline and pride by students and staff of the Academy.
The band led the parade on to the lush field, followed by uniformed cadets and the young women of the flag corps. Each flag held represented the international enrollment at the Academy. Every step and movement was coordinated, as students kept cadence with the drumbeat of the band.
Soon, jeeps and Deuce-and-a-Half trucks painted in camouflage zoomed on to the field. Engines roared with puffs of smoke spewing from tailpipes. Some trucks towed artillery guns. Upon parking, students in the Artillery companies, working with coordinated effort, unhitched the guns, and positioned them facing the lake. Following barked orders, the young men loaded gunpowder in the necks of the guns and lit them. Blasts pounded and shook the stands as each gun was fired in succession.
After, the Blackhorse Troop entered the field, young men in white shirts, blue pants and shiny black riding boots on a sea of shimmering black horses. Sabers were raised, the metal flickering in the daylight as the cavalry charge was called. Travis observed the spectacle with pride. He had hoped that the earlier incident of the flagpole had been erased from spectator’s minds.
* * *
That evening, Judd Riding Hall was filled to capacity with enthusiastic students, staff, and alumni and their families. Voices created a jumbled echo of noise in the cavernous hall. This was the big polo fundraiser, the annual match between current students and alumni. All were expert horsemen, and the event was rather competitive.
Travis mounted his favorite polo pony, aptly named Lancer. His legs hugged the sinewy, muscular stead. He drew a deep breath, the scent of earth and horseflesh permeating his being, making him focus on the rigorous game ahead. Polo involved a great deal of thinking and strategy, in addition to agility by horse and rider. Since 1925, polo had been a signature sport at Culver. The reunion match was a long-standing tradition. As part of the alumni team, he would be facing opponents, students half his age.
Travis adjusted his weight on the saddle while sizing up the opposition. Most of them were his students, and some members of the Troop. He knew he had the advantage of already knowing their strengths and weaknesses as equestrians, but the energy of youth had its advantages.
12
Shelby sat in the bleachers on the mezzanine level overlooking Judd Riding Hall. The arena, filled to capacity, was abuzz with chattering voices discussing the polo match. Were the students, or the alumni going to win the match? It was experience versus youth. How much money was going to be raised for charity? There were raucous cheers and whistles for favorite players when names were announced. For Shelby, it was reminiscent of her days on the rodeo circuit. The people and atmosphere, however, were more elite.
“Mind if I join you?” a prissy female voice startled her from her thoughts.
Shelby looked up to meet the cool gaze of Penelope. Startled was an understatement. Why would this blue-blooded debutante want to sit next to her?
“No problem,” Shelby said, watching Penelope straighten the hem of, and smooth her floral sundress before sitting. She sat still and erect. Finishing school? Shelby chuckled.
The horsemen came forward to acknowledge friends and family. When Travis’ name was announced, cheers erupted from students, faculty, and guests. Shelby clapped and whistled, sensing Pen’s steely gaze set upon her. Pen clapped gently and quietly, as any well bred proper lady might.
Travis was a sight to behold in his tight polo breeches and form-fitting maroon knit top, with helmet perched on his head. His pony was large and muscular, legs wrapped in socks, and tail braided and wrapped.
“He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” Pen asked.
“I guess he is,” Shelby answered with caution. Pen was prying, and she knew the reason for the brunette’s sudden interest in her. Did the girl see her as a threat, or competition?
“Do you ride?”
“Ride?” Pen’s brows creased.
“Horses.”
“I don’t like or trust horses.”
“Really?”
“I don’t like anything that has a mind of its own, and can’t be controlled.”
Shelby wondered if that included Travis. He didn’t appear to be the type of “milk toast” personality, who would allow manipulation.
“Horses are quite intelligent creatures.”
“I’m not an expert on horses, like you. Actually, this is my first polo match,” Pen said in a flippant way.
The two, three player teams took their sides facing one another. The players were lined up in the numerical order on their jerseys. Travis, in Culver-maroon wore the number three. It denoted his defensive position and rank as captain. Shelby knew that he was the brain behind the match, much like a quarterback in football. As chief strategist, he had to be the most adept player and scorer. She wasn’t surprised.
“It’s my first polo match, though I know a bit about the game,” Shelby admitted. She was a rodeo girl, and not an equestrienne or polo player. “You do know that it’s called “the sport of kings?”
“Really?” Pen’s eyes lit up, as if the relationship to royalty made a difference. “I thought that horse racing held that title.”
Her forced smile appeared to be one of gladness at Shelby’s lack of experience with the game,
Shelby said, “I’m a country girl. I don’t hobnob with the fox hunt and polo set.”
“Hmm, I see.” Pen clasped her hand on top of her small purse on her lap. Shelby couldn’t help but notice the Chanel logo. “How do you know Travis?”
Shelby was expecting the question, and was prepared. “We just met. I wandered into the stables while visiting the campus, and he was kind enough to give me a tour. I have a horse farm in Michigan.”
“Trav and I have a horse farm in Lexington. Well, we will once we are married in a couple months. Race horses. Thoroughbreds. You know, Kentucky Derby material.” Pen relaxed, and was beaming.
Shelby detested horse racing. Exploiting animals for money always angered her. Seeing this spoiled, entitled debutante discussing horses like another material possession from Tiffany’s made her draw a deep breath for composure. To think that this woman was Travis’ fiancé was unreal. They seemed as opposite as oil and water.
“Sounds exciting,” Shelby lied. “I operate a horse rescue and therapeutic riding center.”
“I see.”
Shelby could tell that the girl’s interest in her was waning. Well and good. She did wonder what Pen would think if she knew that Travis had not only visited her on several occasions, but stayed overnight in her home, and kissed her? She smiled. Some things were personal and sec
ret.
An umpire began the match, and first chukker, with a “throw in.” The small air-filled ball rolled between the two teams.
A player from the student team lifted his long-handled mallet high in the air with his right hand, and swooped down. With it, he whacked the ball with an audible grunt. His teammate rode in to line the ball in the “right of way,” traveling down the field.
Travis galloped to the player’s side on approach, hooking his mallet on the opposing player’s mallet, to block the ball from advancing. The mallets released, Travis leaned over his mount to whack the ball, advancing it toward his team’s goal. Thundering hooves kicked up dust with players in pursuit.
Shelby sat on the edge of her seat. Her heart raced as she focused on the intense play. The adrenaline made her giddy. A glance to her side showed Pen filing her nails in boredom. What was wrong with that girl, she wondered? Travis was playing his heart out. She could see the glistening sweat on his face, and the way it matted his jersey. Players and horses were snorting and panting, as both teams skirmished back and forth in an attempt to claim the ball, and score a goal. Travis’s horse was responsive, stepping and turning rapidly to trace the ball’s movement. It was quite a trick for the rider to hold the reins in one hand, and to control the mallet with the other.
In the mad scramble, Travis reached down, swinging the mallet to advance the ball. In full gallop, the opponent’s mount was at his side. Shelby could tell he was trying to intimidate Travis, and break his concentration. It wasn’t working. Travis would not relinquish the ball, not when he was so close to the goal. With one swing of the mallet, Travis made the goal, and the riding hall filled with boisterous cheers and clapping. Shelby rose to her feet to join them, and whistled. She looked down and glared at Penelope, who was so preoccupied with her nails, that she ignored all of the excitement.
