Training Harry

by Meghan Namaste

  For Sofie,

  who appears all over this book in equine characters both brilliant and devious.

  Copyright © 2013 Meghan Namaste

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover art by Erica Naomi Braymen (artificechild.com)

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Part Four

  Part Five

  Part One

  Lawrence

  I woke up at six AM. I didn’t have to glance at a clock to be sure. I knew. I lay back for a second without opening my eyes, feeling the sleeping weight of the girl half on top of me. The heavy, familiar, pleasant warmth.

  The morning was coming in all the windows now; the house was glowing. Soon the sunlight would stab through the windows with blinding force. I shifted underneath the girl, gently rolling her onto her side. She made the adjustment without stirring. I pulled the bed sheet up over her, threw on some clothes and went outside. I hung a quick left out front and stepped into the barn.

  The doors stood open, letting the air move through the aisle. The usual outburst started immediately, drawn out neighs and sharp kicks to the stall wall. It was all Harry. Eloise just looked at me, calmly tracking me with her eyes.

  Elle was an elite athlete. She was racehorse-fit, all hard, smooth, interlocking muscle. Her very design was aerodynamic - slim, low to the ground, like an imported sports car. When Elle was on a polo field, she moved with the precision of a mastermind. In a chaotic sport, she flowed, never stumbling or coming up short. Many ponies and players were forced to scramble when the line of play changed jarringly, but Eloise seemed to anticipate, to know, and she would slide into the perfect position and suddenly be out in front, silver dapples over a polished-steel coat.

  Harry was bobbing at his stall door, agitated as ever. I walked down the aisle and ducked into the feed room, grabbing two coffee cans rattling with pre-measured grain. I fed the horses and listened to them chew. When they were done I picked up a lead and went to Harry. Clipping it to his halter, I unbolted the door. “Wait,” I snapped at him as he twitched, ready to bolt through the door and through me. Harry waited, and I slid the door open and led him outside.

  A turnout paddock stood empty with the gate open. I walked Harry in and unsnapped the lead, releasing him. The gelding’s eyes widened and he spun around in place, snorting at everything. He leapt straight into the air, cutting himself in two and landing on the ground in a new direction. Then he was off in a gallop, circling around and around, unable to stop. I heard his hoof beats continue as I turned my back on him.

  I went back to the barn, moving slowly. Eloise still stood at her door, her neck outstretched. She did not lift a hoof to strike out or paw. She didn’t move. Her eyes swept across the barn wall and the stalls on the opposite side of the aisle, and she stared without much hope into the decades-old wood. A muscle twitched rhythmically just above her shoulder, like something alive was trying to fight its way out.

  I started across the aisle, and she turned her raptor eye on me. I couldn’t explain anything to her. I could tell her I was sorry, but I’d used those words so many times that they’d hollowed out and were meaningless now.

  I cut open a bale of hay and threw a few flakes in the wheelbarrow along with a pitchfork. I dropped the hay in her manger, and she went to eat, tearing at the hay with very little joy in her eyes. Elle wasn’t a typical horse you could placate with food.

  I cleaned the stalls and filled water buckets and did any other shit I could think of to do. By the time I got back in the house it was after eight.

  The girl was gone. My bed was neatly made, which never happened unless someone else did it. There was a note on the kitchen table. Thanks for last night, it said. It was fun. She didn’t leave a cell number or anything. She probably had a boyfriend.

  I poured some Cookies ‘n Cream Crunch and ate it dry, picking out all the little cookies and leaving the chocolate flakes. I needed to do something with Harry. If I could catch him. I should’ve left him in, I realized. But then I would’ve had to do something with him.

  Erica

  It was six AM and I was fully awake, mentally tabulating my to-do list for the day. I had seven horses to ride, plus two lessons to teach, one on-site and one off the farm. If I used my time efficiently - and as long as my mother didn’t intervene - I could probably fit in a ride on my own horse. But that priority had shifted to the side for today.

  I charged down the wide, sweeping staircase and made the long walk to the kitchen, way on the outskirts of the vast lower level. Everyone seemed to love big houses, but all this extra space just made it harder to get to the things you needed. My mother disagreed with me. “This house is good for you, dear,” she would say. “You need the exercise.” Like riding eight horses a day counted for nothing.

  Having reached the kitchen, I picked out a muffin from the ever-present basket on the counter and tore into it on my way out the door, undoubtedly leaving crumbs in my wake. Jogging down the stone steps, I looked ahead to the barn. Situated at the top of a hill to the left of our house, it contained 40 stalls, two tack rooms, two bathrooms, a feed room and an indoor arena. Hay and bedding were stored in separate buildings. Already horses were being led out to their daytime haunts, fields and turnout paddocks.

  I walked briskly up the hill, cramming the rest of my breakfast in my mouth as I drew near. I smiled as I passed the morning crew, each one attached to a horse.

  “Hi Donna, hi Lexi, hi Pat.”

  I grabbed a pitchfork and went to work, quickly filling a manure bucket which I dumped into the bed of the waiting 4-wheeler. Soon I had the first stall clean to the floor. I threw down barn lime on the wet spots, letting the white powdery stuff absorb any trace of ammonia. Then I re-bedded the stall with fluffy shavings from the bedding cart.

  I was working my way down the aisle when Donna appeared, having turned out the last waiting horse. “We can take over if you need to get going on your horses,” she said.

  I was fully immersed in the rhythm of stall cleaning. “No, that’s okay. I’ll keep working with you guys.”

  “Don’t you have a really full day?” Donna said, eyeing the whiteboard with all my horses scrawled on it.

  “Relatively.” I admitted.

  “Go,” Donna ordered kindly. “You should already be on your first horse if you’re going to get everything done today.”

  I gave the board a stare. “You’re right. Thanks, Donna,” I said, stepping out of the stall. “You keep me in line.”

  “You do too good a job, anyway,” Donna said, looking into the stalls I’d done. “You make us look bad.”

  I smiled, and was about to go running off in search of a halter when I heard hooves on the aisle. Lexi had brought in my first horse and was leading him while she looked down at her phone, texting away, as usual.

  “Thank you, Lexi!” I exclaimed as she handed me his lead.

  “No prob, Erica,” Lexi chirped, just as her phone went off again.

  I quickly tacked up the gelding, a jumper in the making whose name was Para Dicey. With off-the-track Thoroughbreds, of which I worked with a lot, you never knew what kind of crazy names they would come with. Rough-coated and a bit rude when I picked him up, Dicey was already starting to look like a show horse. He’d put weight on, his dull, overgrown coat had shed out, and his
neck was developing in the right places.

  Dicey waited in the outdoor arena as I set up a simple gymnastic, then I mounted up and let him walk on. I started the ride with flatwork, as always. It was important that Dicey was listening, engaging and using his body properly before I had him jump anything. After a five-minute walk on a long rein, I picked up the contact and worked him through simple transitions and figures. I also worked on his stiff right side. Like many OTTBs, Dicey struggled with a right bend. He was starting to figure it out, though, and as long as I helped him out by supporting him with my inside leg and remembering to stay upright, not leaning too much over his shoulders, he could now trot a decent right circle.

  Satisfied with the warm-up, I rose into two-point and turned Dicey onto the gymnastic line. It consisted of three small verticals on a slight bend. Dicey knew about striding and jumping on a straight line, but he needed to be able to jump at an angle too. For this line, I kept him a bit more between my hand and leg than I would have otherwise, using the same aids I had on the flat to clue him in that this exercise was on a curve. Dicey was a little unsure about this new approach at first, but he jumped it fine, and on subsequent trips through the little gymnastic he cantered and jumped boldly, showing he understood the question I’d posed him.

  Happy with what I’d accomplished with Dicey, I walked him for a few minutes and led him back to the barn. Lexi had my next horse waiting, and I reluctantly handed Dicey off to Pat. I hated not taking care of my own horse, but on a day like this, I didn’t have a choice. I had to move on to the next horse.

  I was adjusting the stirrups when my cell phone started vibrating. I was going to let it ring out, but at the last second, I caved and picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Erica. Hi. Glad I caught you.” A pause. “It’s Lou, by the way.”

  “I know my own brother’s voice,” I said happily. “Even though I haven’t heard it in forever…”

  “I know. I know. It’s crazy here. I can barely even carve out a minute to call Marisol. I miss talking to you and everyone.”

  Lou was competing in Germany. He was gunning for a spot on the Olympic dressage team. He was allowed to be busy.

  “So, how are the European judges treating you?” I asked him.

  “Better and better,” he said. “I really can’t believe the scores we’re getting. It’s unreal.”

  “You deserve it.” I glanced down at the stirrup leather in my hand. I wanted to keep talking, but if I did, this conversation was going to blow my time management all to hell.

  “How’s the family business?” Lou wanted to know.

  “It’s good,” I said absently. “It’s good. Um, Lou, I am so sorry about this, but I have a crazy-packed day in front of me, so…”

  “Oh, no problem,” Lou said in my ear. “I actually have to run too. I was just calling to ask a small favor of you.”

  That pulled me up short. “Really?” I said. “A favor?”

  “You know my friend Lawrence?”

  “Yes…well, I know of him…”

  “Okay. Well, he just got back from Florida, just a few weeks ago, and he has a new polo prospect that he picked up there. The horse was practically given to him by the head trainer at the International Polo Club. Apparently this gelding has been passed around from trainer to trainer. No one can deal with him. He’s not a rogue, but he doesn’t respond to training. He has a mind of his own. Anyway, I guess the horse has potential, which is why they kept him around so long. The guy gave him to Lawrence, thinking he might be able to work with him, but Lawrence can’t figure him out either.”

  I stood there a second, listening intently to the silent phone. “Okay…but where do I come in?”

  Lawrence

  It was two days after Elle's breakdown, when I stood by my locker, mechanically removing all traces of me from the cold metal interior. One of the trainers had come into the room whistling. Gerard Montague. He stopped when he saw me.

  I glanced over at him, the ghost of a smile on my face. "Go on," I said. "Don't let me stop you."

  He stood at the opposite wall, shifting his weight back and forth. He started to leave the room, but changed his mind. "I'm very sorry about what happened," he said.

  I nodded stiffly. I didn't need his words.

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and then forged on with what he had intended to say. "I've got a horse you might like," he said. "Gelding. Five years old. I bought him as a three year old, thinking he had potential. He still does," he added. "That's the problem. He hasn't reached it. Didn't respond to anything I tried with him. He's sharp as a tack, maybe too sharp." The trainer looked me in the eye for the first time, and I didn't shake off his gaze.

  "I've got others to work with, and I'd hate to ship him for slaughter. I don't have time to figure him out, but you might. And if you could, you'd have a hell of a horse on your hands."

  I looked at him thoughtfully. A horse others had given up on. That's what Elle was when I bought her. And while Elle was healing, I could train this one to be her successor. A smile creased the corners of my mouth. A real one. I pulled the last spare shirt from the locker that was no longer mine, and slammed the door shut. "He's sold," I told Montague as I headed out the door.

  Harry was motionless, but his eyeball was almost rolling in the socket. I slid my hands up the reins, snatching up all the slack until I had his head firmly in place. “Walk,” I said acidly, pressing my heels against his sides.

  Harry tucked his head, dropped the contact and started to creep backwards. I let him go up front and kicked him forward. He leapt in place and began dancing sideways, rooting at the reins. Each time he did, he jerked his head up with wide-open eyes, like he’d stuck his nose on an electric fence.

  I urged him on, digging my heels into him. “Move,” I snapped at him, pushing him. Harry exploded and sucked back, exploded and sucked back. He never moved forward. He didn’t give me more than a canter step before he braked hard and tried to leave. It was like this every time, and I was trapped on Harry until he gave me something, anything. If I got off now Harry would win. The deeply set behavior would be reinforced.

  Finally I got him to walk three straight steps. I jumped off immediately and stepped back to look at him. I’d been on him less than ten minutes, and Harry was sweating all over. White foam flecks were popping out on his chest and shoulders.

  Harry wasn’t unfit. He ran all day long in his paddock, twisting and leaping and spinning on his haunches. He had the breeding, the build and the stamina for my chosen sport. Harry had everything. But when I got on his back, he revolted. He exhausted himself resisting my efforts to train him. Some days when I got off him, Harry looked tired enough to fall down. But if I got back on, he charged around defiantly, refusing to give up. He gave me absolutely nothing.

  I knew problem horses. I knew them well. I’d dealt with dangerous, disturbed horses and ridden them through their terror and rage. But those horses had a reason for what they did. Abuse and neglect had scarred them and made them into what they were. They were not born bad. I never thought a horse could be born bad.

  But I was starting to.

  I walked Harry long enough to cool him down, then stripped off his tack and threw him out in the paddock. He took off bucking.

  I couldn’t look at him anymore, so I went into the house. My phone was vibrating on the countertop. I picked it up without much enthusiasm. “This is Cavanaugh.”

  “Hi, uh, Lawrence?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hi, it’s Erica Rimwork.” Long pause. “Lou’s sister,” she threw in, sounding a little anxious.

  “Oh.” I didn’t know Lou had a sister. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, actually I was hoping I could help you,” she said, sounding more self assured. “Lou told me about your new horse. He seemed to think you could use some help with him…”

  I hacked out a laugh. “I need something,” I said. Maybe a bullet.

  “Lou is in Germany, of course,
so he asked me to take a look at the horse. That is, if you want me to.”

  “Sure. Absolutely.”

  “I can stop by tomorrow morning,” she said. I heard her shift the phone to her other ear. “At nine.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.”

  I gave her directions, and we hung up. I set the phone back on the counter and considered what just happened. I wasn’t optimistic that she could get anywhere with Harry. But watching another person battle it out with him might be fun.

  Erica

  Lawrence’s place was pretty close by, but off the beaten track. The route veered gradually, taking me away from the prestige and uniformity of my neighborhood. The scenery shifted from white-fenced Thoroughbred palaces to hay fields and small family farms. Lexington’s natural beauty was more evident out here, and I gazed out the window as my truck wound its way through narrow two-lane roads and eventually made the turn onto an unmarked dirt road.

  I knew the place where he was living, vaguely. It belonged to a family friend. She’d inherited it when her husband died and it had stood empty for a long while. I guessed Lou had helped hook him up with it.

  I pulled in the drive and shut down my vehicle. Looking around, I could see the old stable was still in good shape, wearing the patina of age and slight neglect. There were several paddocks nearby, but no horses were turned out in them. The footing in the outdoor arena had been harrowed recently. But the farmhouse drew me in the most. It was small, just the right size for a person or two, with windows all around. That is a house I could live in.

  I climbed out of my truck and slammed the door, piercing the quiet. I heard a horse call out and then the door of the house opened. Before I knew it, Lawrence Cavanaugh was standing in front of me, shaking my hand. "Hi there," he said warmly. "You must be Erica." I nodded like one of those absurd-looking bobbleheads. I couldn't speak. Hell, even breathing was difficult.