by Kelly Long
“You’re quite right, Abel. I will have trust. All right, Jacob. Let’s go.”
He hadn’t expected her to give in so easy, and he patted Abel on the shoulder for his help in the matter. Then they were off in the sled and soon to the Wyse farm.
Seth had Buttercup on a lead, and Lilly gazed in wonder as the horse walked with a bedsheet strapped to her saddle, billowing out on both sides.
“Best imitation of a woman’s skirts that we could come up with . . . not that yours will do that. But I didn’t want her to be spooked, so we’ve trained her to the sheet for the past week. You see, I’m taking every precaution.” Jacob grabbed a helmet from the fence post and pushed it on her head, careless of her kapp. Then he strapped it securely beneath her chin and she had the sudden longing vision of him brushing his mouth across hers. But he tapped her on the helmet instead. “No worrying.”
He turned and secured Abel’s helmet, then motioned Seth over.
“Abel, you’ve met my little bruder, Seth.”
The boy shook hands and glanced up at Seth’s tall frame. “He’s not little.”
Jacob laughed. “You’re right. He’s not my little brother, but he’s younger than me.”
Abel nodded.
Seth glanced over to an adjoining paddock. “We’ve got a pony named Firecracker if you’d like to take a ride, Abel. Have you ridden before?”
The boy thought, then shook his head. “Once with my father, but then Mamm said not again. I think I got hurt or something.”
Jacob met his brother’s eyes and shrugged slightly.
“Well, no getting hurt today, young man. Come on now, let’s leave your teacher to her lessons.”
Seth started to walk away when he was stopped by Abel’s uplifted hand. Jacob saw his brother study the child for a moment and then sigh. He finally took the boy’s hand in his own and they started across the field.
“Does Seth like children?” Lilly asked as they watched them go.
Jacob smiled. “Oh, I think so. Maybe he just doesn’t quite know it yet.”
Lilly looked at him with curiosity but he waved a hand toward Buttercup.
“All right, Mrs. Wyse. On to your own tutoring.”
He caught up the lead on Buttercup and brought the mare closer.
“So today, if you only learn one thing—”
“Only one? That’s it?”
“Let me finish my sentence, fraa,” he said in a teasing tone. “If you only learn one thing, I want you to learn that safety around horses has a lot to do with confidence and trust.”
“That doesn’t seem like a lesson to me.”
“That’s a lot.” He slid the bedsheet from the saddle and laid it over a fence. “Horses are naturally herd animals. So they want someone to be in charge, to look out for their safety. If they can’t find someone, they will take over. So, if you lack confidence, the horse knows it and becomes the herd leader, doing what he wants rather than listening to you.”
“Kind of like Ruler being a tough horse to drive?”
“Yes. He knows you’re not confident so he’s nervous about you being in control.”
“Well how can a scared person learn confidence?”
“By acting confident, being kind yet strong, teaching the horse to yield to you, and reminding her to stay out of your personal space. And doing it all in the language of a horse.”
“Is that why you don’t let them nuzzle you?”
“If I invite them into my space, I let them nuzzle. But no, they aren’t allowed to choose to step close to me. It must be an invitation.”
“Why not?”
“An eleven-hundred-pound animal is not something I’d like to have slamming its body into me at any time he chooses.”
Lilly stepped back a bit, probably thinking about his last comment.
“Come here,” he said. “Hold out your hand, palm down, fingers curled slightly. Let the horse sniff the back of your hand. That’s your horse handshake, your introduction.”
Jacob took Lilly’s hand and gently pulled her forward a couple steps. He gestured for her to give her greetings. Lilly hesitantly held her hand out for Buttercup to smell.
“Once you’ve been introduced, you can scratch them on the withers—”
“The same way they scratch each other in the field?”
“Yes. They love that mutual grooming. It’s a sign of friendliness and sends the message that you have no intention of hurting them.”
Lilly scratched away, her body still stiff with fear.
“It’s okay.” He moved behind her, reaching over her shoulder to scratch Buttercup as well. Lilly’s nearness distracted him until she spoke.
“I’m still scared.”
“Lilly, one reason why I chose Buttercup for you is that she is very calm.”
“But Granger beat her.”
“We’ve worked a lot with her—every day—to teach her to trust us. I would not for a moment put you on a horse I thought might hurt you.”
Jacob stepped back, took her hand, and moved her out of the way. He swung himself up into the saddle, flopping around a bit up there like he didn’t know what he was doing, then dismounted. The worst thing Buttercup did was sigh and shift her weight. He pointed at her back leg which stood slightly cocked. “Horses only do that when they’re relaxed. Now it’s your turn.”
She frowned at him and he smiled back.
“Well, all right . . .” She moved to mount on the left side, but then she discovered the problem of modesty.
“Jacob . . . I can’t just gather up my skirts . . . why anyone will be able to see my legs!”
“Planning on donning pants and telling the bishop to jump in the crick?” he asked.
“No . . . but now that I’ve thought of it, Amish women do not ride astride . . . I don’t even know if they ride when they’re grown-up—” Her voice rose.
He smiled. “I think you need some motivation.”
“Motivation? While I’m standing here feeling like a fool? No, I don’t believe that I need anything.”
“Here we go. You get on that horse and I’ll practice reading with you for a straight hour. We could finish the primer . . .” His tone was faintly wicked, and he could tell she tried not to smile.
“I don’t understand how that’s supposed to be inspiring in this situation.”
“Maybe that’s the point. You don’t need to understand every little thing right now. My mamm has always ridden astride and in her skirt too.”
She glared at him. “Ach, all right. I’ll try.”
She gathered her dress and underskirt in a bunch, lifting them high enough to reveal her long legs encased in black kneesocks. Then she slipped her left foot into the stirrup and gave a little hop.
“Don’t hold onto the saddle to get up . . . you can grab a handful of the mane but the saddle itself might slip.”
“I don’t think I’m getting up anywhere,” she muttered, moving to do as he suggested and catching hold of the reddish mane. She apologized to Buttercup, who stood so patiently, and made another attempt. This time she got her leg up and tried to swing her right leg astride but her dress was in the way. She got back down and glared at him.
“Maybe I should just take the dress off.”
“Now that’s an interesting proposition. Of course, Abel and Seth might be a little surprised.”
She turned from him, her small jaw set, and she caught an even better hold on the skirt of her dress. He admired her trim calves but quickly looked away, deciding it probably wasn’t proper to ogle the student, even if she was his fraa.
She made another attempt, ruthlessly lifting the fabric that entrapped her and finally got her right leg over. She sat still and triumphant and slightly breathless.
“Very good,” he praised, a warm lilt to his voice.
“Can I get down now?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No. You’ll be fine. You might even like it.”
“That’
s highly unlikely.” Lilly gripped the saddle horn until her knuckles turned white. “How will I hold onto the reins?”
“No reins yet. Just a lead rope that I’ll have control of.”
Jacob put his hand on Buttercup’s withers. “One of the first things to learn is to never squeeze with your knees! Squeezing tells Buttercup you want her to run.”
Lilly’s knees visibly relaxed.
“Then what do I do with my legs?”
“I’ll show you. It’s all about balance. Sit up straight like a good student.”
Lilly started breathing hard.
“You can sit up better than that.”
“I’m scared.”
“It’s okay, Lilly. I don’t want you to get hurt. Trust me.” He put the balls of her feet on the stirrups. “Okay, put your heels down. Like this.” He placed one foot in proper position. “This gives you the balance you need to be safe in the saddle. Sitting up straight makes sure your heels are directly in line with your hips and your hips in line with your neck. Think about a stack of building blocks.”
Lilly tried to get herself straightened up. When she did, her eyes lit up in surprise. “I don’t feel like I’m going to fall off!”
“Right! That’s the point. Okay, I want you to close your eyes. I’m going to walk Buttercup in the round pen.”
Lilly’s eyes flew open wide.
Jacob spoke to her as softly. “Trust me, Lilly. Close your eyes. Hold on. Breathe. I want you to just let yourself move with the horse. Think about not tensing and relaxing into the rhythm of the horse’s walk and breathing.”
He moved Buttercup toward the center of the pen, then rounded her, leading her slowly. At first Lilly tensed and forgot to breathe. But at his encouragement, he could see her relax and begin to smile.
“Jacob,” she said in a stage whisper. “This is amazing! I am on one of Derr Herr’s creatures.”
“Riding a horse is completely about mutual trust, Lilly,” he said while continually leading the mare slowly about the pen. In a quiet voice he went on. “Horses are all about relationship and trust. Horses will only yield to you if they are forced or if they trust. They will only have a positive relationship with you if you spend time together, building that trust. I want that kind of marriage with you, Lilly. Where we spend time together, learn to trust each other.”
He led Buttercup to the hitching post. “Okay, Lilly. You can dismount now.”
“What?”
“That’s it—you’re done. Lesson one is over.”
He was delighted to see the look of disappointment on her face.
Lilly couldn’t believe the feeling of wonder she felt when she finally relaxed into Buttercup’s movements. She didn’t dare tell Jacob she wanted another lesson right away. Well, as long as all she had to do was hold onto the saddle horn and let him lead her around. She wasn’t certain she wanted to try any more than that.
Jacob began to lead Buttercup back to the barn, when the horse stumbled. “That’s not right,” he muttered. He lifted her foot and studied the hoof. “Ach, well . . .”
“What is it?”
“Buttercup needs a tire replaced. I didn’t notice it when I picked her feet before you came. I was in a bit of a hurry. It just goes to show that life is full of little things that can’t be predicted.” He shot a glance at her. “And sometimes that’s good.”
Lilly nodded. “I agree.”
“Okay, we’ll have to go over to the smithy shed.”
“Like a blacksmith shed? I thought people had to go into Lockport to . . . er, change their tires.”
“Nope . . . Daed taught us young and well how to do it ourselves. Otherwise, we’d be going to town three times a week. Come on, you might find it interesting to watch.”
Lilly followed him and the horse, remembering to take off her helmet, then grumbling as she felt her hair slip down a bit.
“Just ahead,” he called as they crossed the paddock. “It’s this far building on the right.”
He slid the door wide and led Buttercup inside while Lilly followed, blinking in the dim light until he turned up a lamp on a workbench.
She glanced around the barn. It was reinforced with cement on the floor and presented a neat and unusual arrangement of tools hanging or attached to the walls or ceiling beams. And, of course, horseshoes in all shapes and sizes resting in metal boxes. Buttercup stood placidly where Jacob had tied her. Then there was an anvil and hammer and a funny-looking post on a low tripod.
She looked over at Jacob, who’d taken off his coat and hat and rolled up his white sleeves. He pulled a leather apron, obviously heavy, from a peg on the wall and slipped it over his front. She thought vaguely that it suited him, emphasizing the strength in his arms and shoulders.
She moved to watch the proceedings from a better vantage point when he gently lifted Buttercup’s front leg and pulled it between his legs. He had a hoof pick and was removing the dirt accumulated in the hoof. “I picked it before, but now I need to get the rest of the dirt.
“Do you see? The shoe is a little loose—it’s pulling away from the hoof.” He took out some kind of snippers and each little nail came out at his bidding.
Then he drew a tool from the workbench that looked like a cross between a tree trimmer and oversize pliers. With them he started to cut off about a good half inch of the hoof, going all the way around it.
“Ach, doesn’t that hurt her a bit?” Lilly asked.
He had taken the funny tripod and had placed Buttercup’s foot on the piece that came up through the middle of the tripod. He was busy now, filing and shaping the hoof with a large rasp, like he was giving the horse an Englisch manicure.
“It doesn’t hurt her a bit. Her hooves are like our fingernails basically, only a bit harder, of course. Horseshoes keep the hooves from wearing down too fast on the road and from injuries due to stones. However, the hooves need to be shortened since they continue to grow—also like our fingernails. So, we need to reshoe every six to eight weeks, unless one works loose, like now.”
She watched him take a new shoe from one of the bins. He held it up to Buttercup’s foot, then began to hammer it out on the anvil.
“Now I just put the shoe back on again. It takes eight nails, and you drive them through the holes on the shoe until the point comes out at an angle through the side of the hoof.” He bent and hammered while Buttercup stood unconcerned. “Then you hammer the points back into the hoof to anchor it and secure it a bit more with this little tool. All that’s left is to rasp the hoof down even with the shoe. And there we go.” He lifted his dark head, brushing his hair back out of his eyes, and looked at her.
“What do you think?”
“I think that life’s little unpredictable happenings can sometimes take a lot of specialized knowledge to fix.”
He laughed and laid the tools aside, then came close to where she stood. He lifted his hand to a stray tendril of brown hair that brushed her cheek, then bent his lips to the curl. She watched him, entranced.
“Do you enjoy the unexpected, Mrs. Wyse?” he asked, reaching his hand around to the nape of her neck and lowering his head.
The barn door slid open and he broke away with a rough noise.
“Hey . . . where’d you two go? Abel and I are done—” Seth grinned at them. “Are you?”
CHAPTER 40
Lilly and Abel were already tucked snug and waiting in the sled when Seth motioned Jacob back inside the barn.
“Here,” he said, “before you go. I’ve got your present.”
“You didn’t have to get me something.”
“You always say that. Just open it.”
Jacob tore the brown paper off the large rectangle, then stared in amazement at the running herd of wild horses that seemed to breathe across the canvas.
“Seth, it’s remarkable. I’ve never seen anything like it. I feel like I can hear them running.”
“That’s what your fraa said when I showed her the painting. Remember? Upstai
rs? When I was a little too interested in my schweschder-in-law.” His voice lowered with regret.
Jacob held the painting close to his chest, then reached out and gave his brother an honest hug.
“All right. Come on,” Seth said, pushing him away. “Hallich gebottsdaag tomorrow.”
“Danki. Oh, and how was Abel?”
Seth looked at the ground. “He’s a great kid. Hidden, you know, like a pool in the woods. But great.”
Jacob nodded. “You would see him that way—as a wonder to be discovered. You’ll be a gut father one day, little bruder.”
“I’ll wait for you first.”
Jacob laughed and felt something tingle in his belly when he thought of having children with Lilly. It was a primal, instinctive feeling that triggered a flash of heated longing to see a baby of their making and to discover what hazel eyes would look like washed with those as blue as the sea.
So, what are you going to give him?” Alice asked with interest as she poured them each a cup of cinnamon tea.
Lilly shrugged. “I don’t know. I want it to be something memorable, but I’m not sure that I’m going to find that in a store. Seth gave him a beautiful painting of horses.”
Alice stirred sugar into her cup. “Well, you can’t top that.”
“You are very helpful, Alice.”
“I try to be.”
Both of them stared at the table a few moments.
“Okay,” Alice said. “I know this doesn’t sound like much. But why not make him a card? I actually prefer a homemade card with someone’s special note for me in it rather than a present.”
Lilly frowned, remembering the valentine she’d tossed away in her youth.
“Ach, never mind,” her friend said hastily, as if reading her mind. “Though you have to admit that it’s odd that you tried to give him a valentine that long ago and now he is your husband.”
“It is strange. It’s clear I don’t know him any better than I did as a maedel. He’s—he’s like something wild, you know? Like a storm coming over the mountain and you can feel that charge in the air.” She lifted her cup to her lips and blew across the hot tea. “I guess I sound silly.”
