Training Harry

by Meghan Namaste

  Lawrence

  The air outside was tepid as I left the bakery, my prize secured under my arm. I breathed the aroma deeply. "I can't wait to get you home," I said, and grinned at my own innuendo. It was going to be a good day; I could feel it. Elle needed her time in the sunshine, and Erica was coming over in the evening to work Harry. For once, I wasn't wondering what was going on in Florida without me.

  "Cavanaugh!"

  I spun around, trying to locate the voice. I soon spotted a middle-aged man with graying, russet hair jogging toward me and looking quite harried. "Wilson," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He stopped a few paces in front of me, somewhat out of breath. We looked at each other for a few moments that stretched on immeasurably as I stood there with my cake and the man I considered my father. There were things in my head, but my mind had frozen up and I couldn’t get to them.

  I hadn’t seen Wilson since I left Lexington. He was far too busy at the polo club to track me down, and knowing this, I had been avoiding him ever since I got back. Part of me had wanted to seek him out immediately, but my more sensible majority dictated I should stay away until I could take whatever he had to say. Wilson was a kind and decent man, but he never glossed over the truth.

  Wilson cleared his throat. "Back already, Cavanaugh?" He shook his head at himself. "Well, of course you are. You're standin' right there."

  I nodded. "Didn't you hear what happened?"

  Wilson raked a hand through his hair. "I heard things, Cavanaugh. Lots of things. Too many of 'em to know what's true."

  He was going to force me to recount the whole thing. Just what I'd been avoiding. Damn it, Wilson. "Eloise broke down on the field." The chasm in my chest widened slightly.

  He nodded impatiently. "Yeah, I heard that. And they threw you out because you were down by one pony? That doesn't make any sense."

  I shook my head. "I had a choice. It was either stay on the team or rehab Elle. I figured I had enough in savings to make it work."

  Wilson stared at me, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern and something else, neither of which I wanted to see. "I tried to tell you, Cavanaugh. You've got to think with your head."

  "You were talking about women," I told him. "Elle is different."

  "How is she different?" Wilson challenged. "You were playing internationally, Cavanaugh. And then that little mare breaks her leg, and you turn around without question."

  "Oh, I questioned it," I said hotly. "But when I saw her in that recovery stall, the way she looked at me...you would have done the same, Wilson. There wasn't a choice anymore."

  There were a few beats of silence, during which I could almost hear my blood simmering.

  Wilson sighed deeply. "You can't tell me what I would have done, Cavanaugh. I wasn't there. All I know is that you've lost your head over this mare. It's like...it's like she's your woman, or something."

  I almost laughed, but the sound caught in my throat somewhere. "You know all about loyalty, Wilson."

  He looked at me with comprehension in his eyes, and some of the glacier between us cracked off and melted. "I don't mean to doubt you," he said. "I know you can take care of yourself, Cavanaugh. I just worry, is all."

  I smiled. "I'll be fine, Wilson. I brought back a gelding to train. It only took me five years to get to the top. This time, I should be back in two or three. They‘ll barely have time to forget my name."

  I was curious about the happenings at the LPC, but Wilson waved his hand dismissively at my questions. "All the same," he said. "I'd be happy to have you back anytime," he added.

  I snorted. "As a stable hand? I think I'll pass, Wilson. I've taken the words 'backbreaking labor' off my resume."

  Wilson rolled his eyes. "Back on the team, Cavanaugh."

  I smiled, but didn't respond. Harry's future was still a question mark. I decided to change the subject. "How's Barbara?" I asked, undoubtedly with a glint in my eye.

  Wilson glared at me and quickened his step. Grinning smugly, I hurried after him. Barbara Wellings was a sponsor of the LPC, and Wilson's only weakness. He had been in love with her for several years now, and if you asked me, Barbara was into him as well. But their relationship faced several hurdles. Wilson was religiously antisocial, often handing public relations duties to me during my time at the LPC. Barbara had a lot more money than Wilson, and also happened to be dating a man even wealthier than she.

  "Is she still with that guy?" I asked.

  Wilson nodded bitterly.

  "Well, don't let that stop you," I said. "She's clearly into you, Wilson. I've seen her with what's his name at the sponsors' gala...she doesn't even give him the time of day."

  "I’m not like you, Cavanaugh. I can’t just walk up to her and say ‘You should be with me’. And besides,” Wilson mumbled, “He’s richer than Midas. He’s an oil heir.”

  I raised my eyebrows. "Oh, man. I'm sorry, Wilson. I didn't know I was supporting your rival when I filled up my tank this morning."

  I stifled a laugh, but Wilson heard anyway and bristled even more. I patted him on the back. "If it's any consolation to you, I hear lots of people are driving less. So this year he may only make a trillion dollars instead of a zillion."

  Wilson shot me a pained look, and decided to retaliate. "Let's play a game, Cavanaugh. I'll tell you something I heard you did in Florida, and you can tell me if it's true."

  "That doesn't sound like a very fun game," I protested.

  He ignored me. "I heard that you slept with some guy's fiancée in the resort they were going to honeymoon in."

  I nodded. "This is true. But in my defense, the guy was obese and addicted to porn and she deserved way better. I was helping her to realize that."

  "Nice speech, Cavanaugh. Okay, how 'bout this: I heard you were two hours late to your orientation because of said tryst with that guy's fiancée."

  "You know what else I did in Florida? I scored some goals, won some games representing our country. Are we going to talk about that stuff?"

  Wilson shook his head.

  "Okay. I didn't think so, but it was worth asking."

  Wilson continued. "I heard some very interesting stuff about you and a certain reporter."

  I smiled. "Marla was a friend."

  "That doesn't mean anything, coming from you," Wilson scoffed. "You sleep with your friends all the time."

  I raised an eyebrow. "I've never slept with you, have I?"

  He sighed. "Alright, Cavanaugh. You win."

  I grinned broadly. "Do I get a prize?"

  "Don't push it, Cavanaugh." Wilson removed his right hand from the pocket he'd buried it in and extended his arm. "It's good to have you back."

  I shook his hand, the feeling of alrightness slowly returning to my life.

  Erica

  I stood in front of my closet, staring at the barely half full interior. I had decided to take some extra time to get ready, and was already regretting it. Normally the words "What am I going to wear?" meant nothing to me. I wore breeches, or jeans. A polo shirt, or just a plain tee. Maybe a sweatshirt if the temperature warranted it. I had two shirts in front of me. They were virtually the same, stupid shirt, just in different colors. "Hunter green or navy?" I asked out loud. I refused to try them both on in front of the mirror. This was insanity. I tried to recall what color I'd been wearing on Monday, as if it mattered. Like if I wore a different color this time, I would be irresistible to him. "Screw it," I growled, snatching up the navy polo shirt and pulling it over my head in defeat.

  I grabbed my keys and tiptoed down the stairs. My mother was entertaining friends in the sitting room, and I was hoping to leave the house unscathed. I could hear her cackling over some juicy gossip one of them had unearthed as I slipped into my paddock boots. Opening the door, slipping through and closing it with hardly a sound, I jogged to my vehicle. "Bye, mom," I said as I started my truck.

  As I drove, I tried to think of a plan. My head had been so corroded by Lawrence and my own insecu
rities that I hadn't devoted a single thought to my work with Harry. He wasn't the sort of horse I could figure out as I went along. He needed a leader he could trust, and he needed to understand what was required of him. It didn't help that I had so little knowledge of his history.

  As I pulled into Lawrence's driveway, inspiration began to strike, and just in time. Lawrence was leading Harry from the front paddock. Upon seeing me, he stopped and waved. The sun framed him in golden light and for the hundredth time in three days, I cursed my brother. Why? I wanted to scream. Why couldn't you have a normal friend? Instead of indulging, I exited my truck and walked over in a confident manner. I decided to focus on the horse. He was the reason I was here, anyway. Lawrence's perfect exterior and the snug fit of his jeans had absolutely nothing to do with it. "Hey, Harry," I said. "Did you miss me?" He regarded me calmly, sniffing my outstretched hand.

  "I didn't notice him pining, but at least he's not running from you," Lawrence offered.

  I looked him in the eye for the first time, just to be polite. It was a mistake. The reply I'd been about to utter disappeared, never to be heard.

  Lawrence jerked Harry's lead shank. The gelding had been thinking about making a grab for some grass. "I'll get him tacked up for you." He clucked to Harry and began to lead him into the barn.

  I quickly came back to my senses and hurried after them. "Actually, I had something else in mind."

  Lawrence halted Harry, who tossed his head in annoyance. "Do tell."

  "Well, I had an idea," I said somewhat redundantly. "Since we don't know how much about Harry’s background, I thought I'd work him on the ground today."

  Lawrence appeared interested. "So you think you can learn something that way?"

  I nodded. "Well, yes. Maybe. Of course it's not ideal, but in this case, all I can do is listen to the horse."

  "Well then, he's all yours." Lawrence smiled, and handed Harry's lead to me.

  I took custody of the horse and set off for the arena. "I'll need a longe whip," I called over my shoulder.

  As we walked, I blocked out all the mindless chatter that had filled my head lately. Harry needed my full attention. I would be taking a different approach with him this time, one that offered very little control. After Lawrence shut the gate behind us, I unclipped the lead shank and tossed it over the rail. Harry stood still for a minute, contemplating the situation. I took the whip from Lawrence and pointed it at Harry's hindquarters. He trotted off and I followed in pursuit.

  The method I was employing went by many names, but I called it free schooling. It was best done in a smaller enclosure than this expansive arena. Here, the horse could easily get away from me and stop before I could catch up. It would be harder for me to establish control. Harry was still trotting as I caught up with him, but he was focusing on a pair of ravens in a nearby maple instead of me. I cracked the whip behind him, and he scooted forward in surprise.

  After a few go rounds of this, Harry became wise to my intent and made it clear he wanted no part in it. He gleefully galloped to the very end of the arena and defiantly slid to a stop. I trudged after him, and sent him away once again. We repeated this over and over, and l had no idea how many times I traversed the arena. Doubt flickered in my mind as the sun began to set. Was I an idiot to even attempt this? Harry had the stamina to run for days. He would still be running long after I'd collapsed in exhaustion. And Lawrence was witnessing all of this. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him abandon his post at the rail and head for the barn. My jaw clenched. Yes, I'm aware that I'm failing at this. But I'd like to see you try and succeed! Harry was trotting around happily with his neck arched. Occasionally he would throw in a high-spirited buck. I stared at him as I walked his way, overcome with the desire to make his life miserable. Without even thinking, I broke into a run. Spreading my arms, I lowered my voice a few octaves. "Move it, Harry," I snarled. His eyes widened in surprise. Then he bolted.

  I ran after him, no longer listening to my protesting muscles. I couldn't half-ass it with this horse and expect results. Just when I felt my lungs start to burn, Harry began to concede. His ear locked onto me, and I smiled in relief as he began to chew. He was listening. He didn’t want me to send him away anymore. "Okay, Harry," I panted, "I'll play nice if you will." I pointed the longe whip at his shoulder and backed off a bit, grinning in relief when he slowed to a trot.

  Harry was highly attuned to body language, even more so than most horses I‘d worked with. Slight adjustments in my position or the length of my steps would prompt transitions from him. I was beginning to feel dizzy, so I directed him to change direction. Only then did I realize he was moving around me in a perfect circle, as if held by an invisible longeline.

  I was so focused on Harry that I almost didn't see Lawrence return to the rail. He wore a look of astonishment almost as well as denim, I noted.

  "Okay, what did you do to him while I was gone?"

  "I got serious!" Stepping away from Harry, I dropped the whip and let my shoulders slump. Harry quickly came to a halt. I smiled and headed over to where Lawrence stood. Within seconds I could hear Harry's footfalls behind me. I was acutely aware that I was sweating profusely and looked like a complete mess, but the thought failed to concern me. Harry was all that mattered right now. The horse who wanted nothing to do with me at the beginning of this session now stood behind me, his breath warm on my damp sleeve. I turned to the right, and he followed, even as I jogged a zigzag pattern. I stopped and wiggled my finger in front of his chest, and he took a step backward. I thrilled inside. As we walked back to the rail, Harry executed a turn on the forehand and haunches from mere hand signals. I could move any part of his body without touching him.

  Lawrence was still frozen by the rail, so I waved him in. He scaled the fence nimbly and approached me hesitantly. "How did you -"

  "I showed him I could lead. Horses will follow if they trust you as a leader." My adrenaline rush was waning, and I was suddenly unsure of myself all over again. "Enjoy your horse. Play with him." I thrust my arm in Harry’s direction, urging Lawrence over.

  Lawrence still appeared hesitant. "Could you show me again how you move him on the ground?"

  You watching my every move. Just my idea of fun. What if I trip and fall on my face? "Sure," I said. "Just walk behind me. You should be able to see what makes him respond."

  I went through my feeble tricks again. Harry was still a willing participant. "Now you try."

  Lawrence took over with confidence, and Harry responded, gliding around the arena, connected to Lawrence by nothing but trust. After they executed a final turn, Lawrence headed over to me. He was grinning broadly, and I realized I was doing the same. "What a rush."

  "Yeah." I held myself with my arms and shivered. By now the sky had darkened considerably, and my sweat-drenched shirt had cooled off.

  "I should get him up to the barn." Lawrence retrieved Harry's lead from the fence. "It's past his dinnertime."

  He led Harry, and I walked alongside him, both of us quiet. As he switched on the light, another horse whinnied. A dappled grey mare.

  Lawrence walked Harry into his stall and removed his halter. The gelding tore into his evening meal.

  I moved closer to the grey's stall. It was crazy, but I felt almost like an intruder as I read the brass nameplate on the door. "Eloise," I whispered.

  She stretched out her neck to sniff me. Her eyes were large and full of intelligence. Her slightly convex profile gave her a businesslike air. She seemed to burst at the seams with health and energy, but as I peered into her stall I saw the cast on her left hind, and my stomach lurched.

  Soon Lawrence was at my side. "I see you've met Elle," he said, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

  Lawrence

  After saying goodnight to Erica, I went back to my house. I had seen something in Harry that I had long stopped hoping for. Perhaps there really was the slightest possibility of a partnership between us. I surrendered to the fantasy and pictured him on
the polo field, mane roached and scraggly tail tied up. I saw him stretched out in full gallop, turning from the slightest shift in my weight. As I stood there in the dark of my home, I felt my mallet strike the ball, sending it flying through the opposing team's goalposts.

  My eyes darted to a dim, blue light as it cut through the darkness. My cell was vibrating on the counter where I’d left it. Without glancing at the caller ID, I picked it up. Maybe it's Erica. I paused, wondering why her name had come to mind so quickly. Probably because she just left. Yeah, that was it. I flipped the phone open, and held it to my ear. "This is Cavanaugh."

  "Lawrence Cavanaugh? The legend?" Asked the voice that nearly stopped my heart when I recognized it.

  "I thought I made it clear that I never wanted to see or speak to you again," I hissed.

  "That may be, Cavanaugh, but there's a little matter of the seven polo ponies I purchased a while back."

  The statement hit me like a runaway horse. I hadn't given a thought to the rest of my string since I won that final game on a bay whose name I didn't know, patted his neck and rushed to the large animal hospital where Elle had been taken. "You mean you haven't sold them?" I asked incredulously.

  "They're still in Florida," she rasped. "And the monthly bill is horrendous. The things eat enough to choke a horse every damn day."

  "Then sell them," I nearly shouted. "Sell them all! There's a shortage of top polo ponies right now. You should be able to make your investment back, and then some." I heard her gulp, or else throw back some more whiskey. My money was on the latter.

  "I've got a question for you," she slurred. "What's going to happen to you when I sell them all? Are you going to go back to cleaning stalls and living with the fucking pitchforks you use? What the hell are you thinking, Lawrence?"

  I didn't like the way she said my name. I could hear that caring note in her voice, even through the alcohol. She always wanted to take things too far, to make it real.

  "I'll find another sponsor," I said. I should hang up now. Leave it at that. But her voice had frozen me in place, and by the time I started fighting, it was too late.