As they started mucking out the stalls, the dog that had followed River this morning entered the stable and plopped down in the aisle near where he worked.
“Is that your dog?” Sierra asked as a way of starting conversation.
“I guess,” he answered.
“What do you mean you guess?”
“I’m as much hers as she is mine,” he answered.
Interesting, Sierra mused. “What’s her name?”
“Storm.”
“Oh.” After a few minutes of silence she asked, “Any particular reason why Storm?”
“She followed me home one stormy night.”
“Do you know what kind of dog she is?”
“No.” Then he added voluntarily, “She isn’t allowed inside the barn when the horses are in.”
Although his answers were short, Sierra didn’t sense the animosity from River as when she had first arrived. He didn’t seem to mind answering her questions about his dog, and even smiled at Storm when she pricked her ears at hearing her name. After that, the two mucked out the stalls together in silence, but it was a companionable silence and Sierra enjoyed the work. This isn’t hard, she thought, getting into a rhythm of motion with the pitchfork; pick up, swing around, dump.
They had finished the first aisle when another man entered the stables. He smiled as he walked by and Sierra caught a pleasant whiff of something good to eat coming from a basket he carried. The man spoke to River in rapid Spanish and she heard her name mixed in with the Spanish words. Apprehension seeped into her heart. They must be discussing my work. After a few minutes of talking, the man approached Sierra.
“Allo,” he greeted in accented English. “Mees Tess tell me you work ‘eere weekend eef you do okay.”
Sierra wiped straggling damp hair that had escaped her braids away from her face. “I’ll get faster as I get more used to the work,” she blurted out defensively.
He laughed pleasantly. “Muy bien, good. I am Manuel, I am dee barn maneeger.”
“Nice to meet you; I’m Sierra Landsing.” She smiled at his pleasant manner.
“Sierra,” he nodded with a reassuring grin. He pronounced her name with a Spanish inflection and rolling the rs, and she liked the way it sounded. “Reever, ‘ee tell me you do okay.”
“Really?” She looked over at the boy in disbelief.
“Yeah,” River muttered and turned away to toss a pitchfork-full into the cart.
“Thanks,” Sierra responded, grinning in relief, and returned to her own mucking with renewed energy.
“You keeds, you take a break now,” Manuel ordered. “My Rosa, she make for you to eat.” Manuel walked to an observation platform at one end of the indoor arena where several chairs and a small bleacher had been placed, and set the basket down.
“Come on,” River directed, leaning his pitchfork against the side of the stall. Sierra followed him to the tack room where they washed their hands and then over to the platform where Manuel unloaded the contents of the basket. Scrambled eggs, cheese, and bits of chorizo sausage had been stuffed inside freshly-made tortillas. A plastic container filled with a chunky salsa and a jug of orange juice accompanied the food. Sierra had eaten a bowl of cereal before leaving home that morning, but her stomach growled at the smell of the enticing food, and she realized she was quite hungry. She sat down on one of the chairs next to River and Storm came over to lie at their feet. The two kids quickly consumed the six tortillas with voracious appetites, breaking off pieces that they tossed to Storm, sharing the feast.
A few boarders began to arrive; either to ride their horses out for a hack on the trails or to work in one of the arenas. Some managed their own horses but a few would call River away, asking him to bring a horse in from the paddock or help with grooming and tacking, and that left Sierra to clean stalls by herself. Her muscles already ached from the unaccustomed work, but she kept up the pace, even with River away.
Finally all eighteen stalls had been mucked out, filled with fresh shavings, and the aisles and other areas inside the stable swept and tidied.
“We’re done,” River announced as they hung brooms back on the wall in the equipment bay. Sierra looked back down the aisle at the row of fresh, clean stalls, feeling a sense of accomplishment and happy for the horses to have such comfortable stalls to sleep in. She closed her eyes and hugged herself, breathing in deeply the wonderful smells of horse, hay, and even manure.
“What are you doing?” River asked, watching her.
She blushed in embarrassment for she thought he had turned away. “Nothing…I’m just smelling the smells.” She was sure River would laugh or scoff at her, but surprisingly he smiled, as if he understood. “Thanks for showing me what to do,” she added.
He nodded. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“Yes, I told you I won’t quit…that is, if I have the job.”
“If you want it,” he replied.
The silhouette of a figure walked down the aisle toward them. As she came into view Sierra recognized Crystal Douglas dressed in a tailored blue and gold riding pullover that seemed well coordinated with her blue eyes and golden hair, tan breeches, and polished black riding boots.
“River,” the girl’s voice called out sharply. “Get Magic tacked up. I want the blue pad and matching splint boots.”
River’s posture stiffened and his jaw tightened. Crystal had spoken her command and walked away. He stood a moment taking in deep breaths before he strode rapidly after her. Just behind her he said, “I’m riding Magic today.”
Crystal stopped and turned back toward him. “What did you say?”
“Tess wants me to trail ride him.”
“You were supposed to do that yesterday.”
“And today.”
Sierra watched the interaction, looking at Crystal and then at River, and felt the tangible enmity between them.
“Well, I’m riding him today,” Crystal spat out. They stared hard at each other, Crystal with arms folded firmly across her chest and River clenching his fists at his sides.
The tense moment lasted the length of a held breath. Then River shrugged and snapped back, “He’s your horse, but you’ll have to tack him up yourself.” He strode angrily past Crystal and out the stable door.
Sierra let out her breath, watching all with an anxious expression on her face.
“What are you staring at?” Crystal barked angrily at her. Then she too spun around and stomped back outside.
*****
6 The Horses
No healthy people, no culture rooted in natural principles, will ever be able to forgo close alliance with the horse and the happiness it gives. – Waldemar Seunig
*****
Sunday morning, Sierra woke with the muscles of her arms, back, and even her legs stiff and aching from the unaccustomed hard work of yesterday. She felt crippled as she hobbled out of bed and dressed in her grubby jeans and sweatshirt. After gulping down a glass of milk with a piece of toast, she stiffly pedaled her bicycle to Pegasus and waited at the stable doors for River to arrive.
He came up the lane with Storm and glanced at her, again without speaking.
Sierra took a deep breath and followed him around to the back of the stable. “Hi, River,” she greeted.
He mumbled a response as he punched in numbers on the keypad of a back door, opened it and went inside. She sighed and followed him in, noting where the switches were located as he flipped on lights and the button that opened the main entryway door. Horses stirred in their stalls and whinnied out their greetings. A tabby cat emerged from a shadowy corner to rub against River’s legs and meow up at him. Sierra’s irritation at his surliness began to ease amid the animal smells and sounds.
River jumped up onto the driver’s seat of the electric cart, already loaded with bales of hay, and turned on the ignition. He beckoned to her, “Are you coming?”
Sierra smiled in relief and climbed onto the passenger seat and they began the morning chores.
&n
bsp; *****
Monday morning Sierra stared out the school bus window; not seeing the traffic or passing scenery. Rather she imagined the shadow of the bus as a giant black horse who galloped alongside, jumping all the obstacles he met in his way. When the bus slowed and pulled over to its next stop, she calmed her fiery steed, patience, True Heart. She imagined him stomping and pawing at this forced halt. Moments later the bus lurched back into the lane and she released True Heart, who burst forward and leaped over the blue Honda to the left of the bus.
A heavy plop into the empty space next to Sierra jounced the seat, and without looking she scooted away closer to the window.
“Hi, Sierra,” a voice greeted her, followed by a gargled-sounding laugh.
Great, Billy; Sierra recognized his voice. His mother must not have been able to drive him to school this morning. She glanced at him and politely said, “Hi,” with a quick smile before turning back to the window and True Heart.
“Did you finish the English homework?” Billy inquired as he shifted around in the seat, arranging his ample bottom and finding room between his feet for his backpack.
“Yes,” Sierra replied without turning away from the window, resisting his attempts to draw her into conversation.
Billy prattled on about a movie he had seen over the weekend, interpreting Sierra’s one word responses as interest. His voice invaded into her imagination and she lost True Heart.
Finally the bus pulled into the school loading and unloading zone. Sierra felt trapped as the other kids rushed off the bus exuding laughter and chatter as they pushed their way down the aisle. Billy waited until the last kid had passed before squirming his bulky body into the aisle. He stepped back and with a sweep of his hand, announced, “After you, m’lady,” mimicking the accent of a character in his movie.
Sierra could not help a short laugh and rolled her eyes as she stepped past him, because for once he was funny. She began the descent down the steps of the bus moving with slow stiffness, all her muscles aching from the weekend work. At the last step, a heavy weight unexpectedly plummeted against her back. She staggered, lost her balance, and fell to her knees onto the sidewalk. Billy fell heavily on top of her, his backpack knocking the side of her head before sliding away.
Laughter and snide comments encircled Sierra and Billy as kids crowded around, hiding them from the view of the bus driver who seemed unaware of the accident.
“Billy, please get off me,” Sierra wheezed, for his weight on her back made it hard to breathe. Billy shifted to roll off and then she was free to pick herself up.
“Are you okay?” Billy asked anxiously, still on the ground where he had rolled onto his side.
Sierra stood, brushing off her clothes and relieved not to find a tear in the knee of her jeans, even though she could feel a painful scrape underneath. “I’m okay,” she assured him, keeping her back turned as she adjusted her backpack. It was embarrassing to hear Billy grunt and groan as he pushed himself onto his feet. The first bell had sounded and most of the crowd had dispersed, heading into the building. As much as Sierra wanted to flee, she waited to be sure Billy had regained his feet. She picked up his backpack and handed it to him.
“Justin shocked me,” Billy said as he hoisted his backpack over his shoulders.
“What?” Sierra didn’t understand. “Who?”
“An electric shock,” Billy stated. “He touched the back of my leg with something and it gave me a jolt.” As if in proof, Billy rubbed the calf of his left leg.
“He wouldn’t…” But Sierra admitted to herself that yes, some of the boys here were mean enough to do something like that…like put bubblegum in a girl’s hair. “You should tell someone,” she advised.
Billy snorted. “I’m not a tattletale…besides…and don’t you say anything either.”
A new Chevrolet Suburban pulled up to the curb, doors opened, and Crystal with her best friend Gloria Sanders, stepped out. “Do you smell manure?” Crystal asked in a loud voice as the two girls passed by, and they both giggled derisively. They skipped up the steps to where a boy waited and Sierra recognized Justin Blomquist, Crystal’s boyfriend. He greeted the girls with a satisfied grin and began telling them what had happened, cocking his head towards Sierra and Billy. The three went inside laughing loudly.
Billy watched their retreating backs, and then lumbered after Sierra as she started up the steps. “Have you made an enemy of Crystal?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s one person you don’t want on your bad side,” he warned in an ominous tone.
“I’ve started working weekends at Pegasus Equestrian Center, where she boards her horse,” she told him. “I don’t see why that would make me her enemy though.”
“Sierra, she doesn’t board her horse there. Her father owns that stable; or at least part owner,” Billy informed her.
“I still don’t see why she would care if I work there,” Sierra wondered. She said goodbye as they entered the building and parted for their classes. But she thought back to the last time she had seen Crystal at the stable and the altercation with River. Could she resent me because I witnessed that?
*****
Every weekend Sierra spent at the stable. Saturday and Sunday mornings she helped feed, turn out horses, and muck stalls with River. Her muscles developed and she became adept at the work which no longer left her sore. River remained reticent, especially first thing in the morning; but they worked together in companionable silence and Sierra no longer sensed that he resented her presence.
She learned the stable routine. Manuel and his wife Rosa did the chores during the weekdays, and then Manuel busied himself with maintenance of the stable and grounds. Rosa worked at a local Mexican restaurant in the afternoons. Manuel had the weekend mornings off and all day Sunday. Saturday, Manuel brought the horses in for the night and fed them but Sunday night River did the evening chores. Rosa prepared a midmorning basket of food for the two kids every Saturday and Sunday, usually delivered by Manuel, but sometimes Rosa herself. She was a short, plump woman who always wore an affectionate smile, hugged both Sierra and River, and spoke only a few words of English.
River also worked weekdays after school; tacking up and then cooling down the horses used in lessons and helping Manuel bring in and feed the horses in the evening. In between chores, River rode two or three horses that Tess assigned him; either schooling in the arena, hacking out on the trails, or in the open fields behind the stable where a permanent cross country jumping course had been constructed.
After school and after chores on the weekend, Sierra spent her free time at the stable. She visited each horse, petting them and feeding bits of apples or carrots. And then she watched River.
She stayed in the background so as not to get in River’s way. She loved watching him handle the horses both on the ground and in the saddle; but especially in the saddle. There was something magical about River on a horse, as if it was the place meant for him in the world. She never saw him wear spurs and he rarely carried a whip. The few times she had seen him use a whip had been as an extension of his hand or leg and only a tap. Yet his mount always looked energized and quick to respond to whatever invisible commands River gave to the animal. The expression in the eye of the horse and the way it would flick its ears back and forth looked exactly as if the horse listened to and understood River.
Tess rode the horses in training in the mornings which freed her up to give lessons in the afternoons, but sometimes she would be finishing up with the last horse when Sierra arrived at the stable after school. Sierra liked watching Tess ride also, but she wondered at the difference in Tess’s style from that of River. When Tess rode, Sierra could see how she controlled the horse’s every move, with hands and with touches of spur and whip. She demanded of the horse powerful, energetic movements, yet they seemed tense and forced. It was a power that Sierra thought of as a tightly compressed coil which once released, would spring apart with violence and with the potential to
hurt something. It was a frightening beauty. When River rode, the horse’s energy seemed effortless, fluid, and full of joy. When Tess rode, the horse’s energy seemed tightly controlled and explosive.
River knew Sierra hung around watching, and eventually he called her over and let her help him groom, tack, untack, and cool down the horses as they were brought back from their lessons. Speaking few words, he mostly taught by showing her how. She never felt irritation or impatience from him as she struggled with the unfamiliar tasks. Sierra learned to brush coats, pick out feet, and comb manes and tails; how to bridle and saddle a horse; and how to clean the tack before storing it in the tack room.
River also taught her what Sierra liked to think of as horse language, such things as: watch out when a horse’s ears are laid back, he’s annoyed; be careful around the back end when the tail is clamped tight, he may kick; the combination of ears back, quivering of skin and hunching of back muscles when grooming meant that she had touched a ticklish or sensitive spot. Sierra learned these signals that all horses possess in common, but she also discovered individual characteristics and personality traits in each one. She came to know all the horses not only by their appearances, but also by each one’s uniqueness. She learned their names; their registered names (often rather pretentious), and their stable names or nicknames. She loved them all and tried to give equal attention to each horse, but she did have her favorites, one of which was Red Magic, nicknamed Magic.
Magnificently beautiful with a regal presence, Magic had a sweet and timid disposition, easily frightened, but very receptive to kind words and soft handling. River told her he was a four-year-old, very green, and still considered a baby. Sierra thought River loved him best of all the horses and it wasn’t difficult to recognize a close bond between the boy and the lovely chestnut.
Crystal Douglas acquired Magic three months ago to replace her older eventing horse Caretaker, nicknamed Butch, a sixteen-year-old dark bay Oldenburg gelding. Crystal had done very well on Butch in combined training events; having won the Pacific Regional Championship at both beginner novice and novice levels in years past. But last season, riding at training level, he came up lame mid-season and she was unable to qualify for the championship event. Campaigned hard all his life and now suffering from arthritis, it was doubtful he would remain sound if moved up to preliminary level and higher. Crystal convinced her father she needed a better mount and Butch was now for sale.
The Girl Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series) Page 4
