“I have an idea that Bahadur will be the same with you. But anyway, love”—he started to walk away—“I’ll see you this evening. If you need me, I’ll have my phone.”
“Jared?”
He stopped, turned around.
“I love you.”
He grinned. “I count on that. I love you too.” He wondered if she knew how little of what he felt for her was revealed in those simple words.
****
In his black tuxedo, Jared stood tall and aloof from the guests. It was the night of the Symphony and guests came for that event who hadn’t attended anything else. He spoke to several of the riders he knew, shook hands with another couple, but didn’t mingle.
With limousines and expensive cars waiting in line, parking valets were busy. Pathways lit by flame-tipped torches shimmered against the shrubbery as trees shifted in the breeze, each illumined by smaller, twinkling lights inviting guests to explore quiet passages. And everywhere, men in tuxedos escorted women wearing sleek gowns, colorful as flamingos. When one or two single women tried to engage him in conversation, he smiled and walked away.
As Tyndal joined him, they understood. A man in love. He took her hand, brushed his lips across her cheek. “Are you ready for this evening?”
They stood beside the fountain, its muted waterfall their music.
She nodded. “I think so. I’m hoping so anyway.”
“Tyndal, I know you are.”
A server passed carrying a tray; Jared chose two waters instead of champagne, then handed her one.
“Oh? And how is that?” She sipped and waited for his answer.
“Because I was there on the nights you practiced.” Jared set his water to one side, cupped her chin in his hands. “I dismissed the guards because I didn’t want to share. I know you thought you were alone, so I stood in the shadows. You took my breath away. I’ve used dressage for the control and balance it teaches, but never for what you do. You and Bhetami. You’d ride bareback, I understand the reason for that. You’d have on a sweatshirt and jeans”—he touched her hair—“all this would be loose and fall to your waist.” He paused. “The beauty of it… Tyndal…if I weren’t already in love with you, seeing you that way would have finished me off. Just you, Bhetami, and the music. Midnight magic, I call it, when you’d ride in that empty arena.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t supposed to. But that’s why I know you’re ready.” He touched his lips to hers. “Steady, love.” He spoke softly. “Sasha is gone. Now it’s just a bunch of folks, most of whom you know, here tonight to relax and have a good time. Later on, you’ll turn it into something wonderful. I promise.”
“Just remind me of that once in a while, okay?”
“I will. You want to stay out here or are you ready to go inside?” He put his hand on Tyndal’s arm. “Wait. Don’t answer that, just look.”
She followed the direction of his eyes.
Fionola worked her way through the crowd, laughing with friends and guests as she walked along the garden path. Her gown, a rich burgundy, had a faint whisper of sequins that shimmered on the bodice, the long flow of its skirt elegant in its simplicity. Her white hair sparkled under lights suspended from the trees, diamonds blazed at her ears.
“It’s good to see her smile,” Jared said. “I’ve missed that.” Jared led Tyndal to her side, handed Fionola a glass of wine.
“Fee, Tyndal has just informed me she’s going to ditch me for better company, so would you care to be my date tonight?”
“Sorry, son. The lady already promised to be mine, so I believe that’s called a conflict of interest.”
Jared grinned as Seth crossed to Fionola.
His tie was crooked.
She straightened it for him.
Tyndal laughed. “Like he said, I’m all his, but only for another few minutes. Then I have a rendezvous with a younger man. I’m fickle that way.”
“Women.” Seth laughed, reached for a glass of wine one of the servers offered, the bandage across the top of his hand bright against his dark tuxedo. “It’s been a day.” He toasted Fionola. “And we lived through it.”
Pointing to the bandage, Tyndal looked at Seth. “What happened?”
“Carelessness, mostly. We put Gregor in a sling for the night. A couple of students will stay with him to keep him entertained. Tomorrow he moves to a stall that’ll have his name on it for the next few weeks. I was about to leave and decided to check on a horse that came in earlier and the fool thing bit me. I wound up with ten stitches.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Keno said as he joined them. “Ten stitches? You know, Doc, I would have been glad to have helped you out. I’ve had lots of practice with a needle and thread.”
“No doubt.” Seth grinned. “But I was able to convince the medic to give me some lidocaine. You might not have been as generous. But I’m glad you could make it tonight. You’ve had a day too.”
“A good day. Right over wrong and all that. Sometimes the job gets done, but you don’t feel as good about it. Anyway, what’d I miss?”
“Tyndal told Jared she has another date tonight, for one,” Seth said.
“You lose your touch, old man?” Keno laughed and winked at Tyndal. “In case you’re wondering, I’m available.”
“She has better taste than to take up with you. Plus, it’s Bahadur. Can’t say I’m too worried.”
“I don’t know, Jared. She might like a man with more sophistication and experience. I hear you’re real good with a horse, but a woman takes some skill.”
“This woman is listening. Do you two carry on like this all the time?”
“No. Most of the time I ignore him,” Jared said.
Standing beside Seth, Fionola laughed and held up a hand. “I’ve just been told dinner’s ready and I need to go take a look. They’ve created a new menu for tonight. Plus the seating…we had to accommodate a larger group this year. I know the staff has everything under control…”
“But you still worry. Fee, come over here and look around.” Seth waved toward the inside of the room where flowers, candlelight, and crystal decorated the tables that surrounded the arena. The site, transformed from the show jumping venue into an elegant event space, was stunning. Rimmed with flowers and light, the arena waited as the orchestra, seated at one side of the massive auditorium, warmed up. “I always thought the cost Chase spent on this building was crazy, but it’s sure something to see how the roof opens.”
“He wanted it to be functional and beautiful. I’m so glad the weather held so we could have it open to the moonlight and the stars.”
“I see your guest gifts arrived.” Beside each place setting was a foil-wrapped box topped with a gold bow. “What did you have made?”
“This year the jeweler designed a sterling silver lapel pin in the shape of a rearing horse with a tiny emerald for its eye. I hope our guests enjoy their little reminder of tonight.”
“How could they forget? It’s beautiful,” Tyndal murmured to Fionola. “You do this every year and it just amazes me. I love having the fence removed from around the arena. And using flowers to outline the walkway was a great idea.”
“I thought you’d like that. I worry some horses are too nervous to be close to a crowd and hoped it would provide enough separation. Are you off so soon?”
“I want to get Bahadur ready and then it’ll be time to start with Bhetami. Busy night.”
“Do you plan to bring Bahadur in with the Parade?” Seth smiled.
“I am. Maybe he can be good long enough to walk around the ring once or twice.”
“Not to worry, sweet girl. Tonight is for fun.”
“Just so long as he doesn’t take that literally and snatch somebody’s carrot sticks, we’ll be okay.” Tyndal kissed her grandmother on the cheek, smiled as Jared came to her side.
“Need an escort?”
“Love one.”
Jared grinned at Fionola. “Hold my place. I’ll be back in a minute.
”
“Have they set a date?” Keno asked. “A wedding has got to be somewhere in their future.”
“We have the date, time, and location. I haven’t received a guest list from either one and you can be sure I’ll give them a nudge if they don’t provide it before long.”
“You should ask about her matchmaking ability.” Seth laughed at Fionola’s frown. “Especially after the shenanigans she pulled to get them together.” He nudged her with his arm.
“Hush. I did nothing of the sort. Keno, a penny for your thoughts?”
The big man scanned the room. “The seating arrangement. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“No? I think it’s why the Symphony is so popular. We work hard to keep it intimate. Only the flowers separate the tables from the horses. The goal is to bring everyone as close as safely possible to the horses and their riders. The meal will be served as the winning team from each discipline shows in the arena.
“For some people,” Fionola continued, “the opportunity of seeing a Halter champion up close is something they’ve yet to experience. We talk about the concentration of a Western Pleasure horse. Here, you’ll see it. For many, it’s the expressions in the horses’ eyes they enjoy. Each year it’s different. Just watch, and later, when the lights dim, hold your breath.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tyndal’s attire for the evening was the formal black tailcoat, also known as a Shadbelly, a yellow vest, white breeches and the traditional long, shining black boots. Unlike Sasha, she’d wear white gloves. She dressed in the time-honored way that signified a rider of the highest level of classic dressage, the vest and gloves reserved for only the most elite. She pinned her hair into a simple chignon that just fit beneath the brim of her top hat, fastened the pearls Chase once gave to Fionola on her ears. Standing at the mirror in one of the dressing rooms close to the arena, she tied a soft cravat around her throat, accented it with a small pearl and gold pin. A pin Chase and Fionola gave to her years earlier. She was starting to notice everything she’d kept, whatever she touched, even the equipment she used, someone she loved had given it to her or shared it with her. Morgan’s Walk was filled with it. Love. Memories. People, and horses, and dogs, she loved.
People, and horses, and dogs, which could die. Who had died.
Couldn’t she just have one night when she didn’t think about dying?
When one of the grooms tapped on her door, she checked Bhetami’s gear; as ever the silver mare was the picture of elegance. In the muted light, she and Bhetami entered the arena, moving like a silhouette between the bright, colorful flowers along the walkway Fionola created for them, the subtle drifts of more exotic perfumes. Tyndal wondered at the couples seated at tables. Some sat with their heads close together, as couples do when love is shared. Some held hands in the flickering light and love looked easy. Maybe for some couples it was. But didn’t some worry about what might happen? Death wasn’t that far away, just a heartbeat. So how could love be so casual? Tyndal walked Bhetami to center stage where in the warm summer evening, light and shadow blended and merged as one.
She’d never felt more alone.
On cue, the entire auditorium went completely dark and then one spotlight, low and soft, whispered its light across the two that stood motionless in the center of the huge arena. Twinkling tea lights shimmered at each table; the orchestra’s discreet lights gleamed on music stands and at the conductor’s podium, and other than the light haloing the two at its heart, the auditorium and the audience wrapped in the warm dark, waited.
As the orchestra began the haunting Pachelbel “Canon in D,” Bhetami’s steps matched the music beat for beat, step for step, in an impossibly deliberate, slow tempo. The movement was known as the passage, a motion often said to resemble a horse trotting underwater. With the misted light shimmering over the silvered white of her coat, Bhetami appeared almost ethereal, glowing, an eerie floating illusion. Tyndal, in her black ensemble, was a shadow.
The crowd dared not stir as Bhetami moved in the elegant, timed steps, as her breath and hoof beats sounded with the music. With her dark eyes glowing, Bhetami arched her neck, leaned against the bit, against Tyndal’s familiar hands, trusting her to hold steady throughout each exercise. She executed a faultless half-pass diagonally across the arena, then turned and repeated it, crossing the arena to the other side.
No one saw the cues Tyndal gave the mare, just a feather’s pressure from her knee or calf, a reassurance to Bhetami that she did well, a request for a bit more extension. It flowed only between the two of them, their unseen, unending conversation.
Bhetami danced the piaffe, an in-place trot with hardly any forward movement, then as if on a sigh, she sank into an exquisite levade, and shifting her weight onto her hindquarters, lifted her front legs off the ground.
Tyndal made no move while the mare held position, balanced, perfectly poised. When gravity gave way, allowing her to soar without wings, she leaped into the air, all four polished hooves clearing the ground, a prima ballerina’s grand jete suspended mid-air for a breathless heartbeat. She landed the stunning capriole lightly, as if returning to the ground wasn’t a necessity, but her choice.
When the last step was executed, the last flying change of lead danced, and the last note of music from the orchestra floated as an echo, the audience didn’t move. They sat, silent in spellbound reverie. Tyndal and Bhetami left the spotlight.
One by one, across the auditorium, people rose to their feet, some not sure if they should applaud or let their tears flow. Applause rang out when Tyndal and Bhetami re-entered the arena. In acknowledgment of their appreciation, Tyndal cued Bhetami to weave the flowing half-pass back and forth across the arena.
Jared stood, applauded like everyone else, his eyes on hers while she and her silver mare paused close to their table.
Tyndal blew a kiss to Fionola.
She smiled at Seth and Keno.
But Jared? She looked at him for a slow heartbeat.
Love flowed between them, hot and sweet.
But so did something else.
The worry Tyndal felt earlier flared into a fine stream of panic. She knew he loved her. She’d no more question his love than she would Fionola’s. Or the knowledge that with him, she felt alive. For the first time, she could imagine living unafraid. But that hopeful effervescence also fueled panic.
Why?
Because nothing could erase the fundamental question.
Was love enough?
Cuing Bhetami, the mare sank into the beautiful levade, and held it while the great flames on each of the huge pillars that circled the arena were extinguished, as the light above the audience dimmed. Like smoke, the pair shimmered, drifting into memory…
And darkness seeped into Tyndal’s heart.
When the massive overhead lights flashed on again, the arena was empty.
The Symphony was done. The Classic was finished for another year. But the audience remained, unwilling to depart or forget.
Tyndal understood the feeling.
Some moments were too precious. Some moments, some memories lived, and became part of the soul. Jared. Her heart. He was her compass, her root.
Yet Sasha almost succeeded in taking him away. She hadn’t allowed herself to think or even imagine for an instant that he wouldn’t live, that she might lose him. Now she knew how precarious it had been. How precarious life was.
Jared, with his calm eyes and stubborn heart, taught her how much she could love. She loved not only him, but Fionola, the horses, Jake, Seth, Morgan’s Walk. Even Keno made a place in her heart. She’d been fine with the engagement, she imagined their wedding, even teased Fionola about the guest list. She wasn’t worried about marrying Jared. Not for an instant.
It was life that terrified her.
Because life demanded its toll, a payment for breath.
Somehow that requirement came due in awful, unexpected ways. Like an unseen agent in the collection box that tallied how much was o
wed, it wasn’t hard to imagine life kept score.
Was the exchange rate one smile per tear?
One hour of happiness for two of misery?
In the midst of all the incredible life-filled moments she’d experienced—moments in which she’d loved too much, laughed too often, hoped too deeply—or maybe because of that, it seemed life became jealous. It evened the score.
Several evenings earlier, she and Jared spent half the night looking at old pictures. They went through pages of scrapbooks and school pictures. She showed him photos of her parents. Of herself as a child holding a little orange-colored kitten. “Oh look! It’s Sunshine!” She’d turned to Jared and smiled.
They looked at the pictures of Chase in his military uniform, of Chase and Fionola in Scotland just after their marriage, at pictures of her father as a baby, as a young boy and finally, of his wedding to the woman he cherished. They were young and in love.
On other pages, there were pictures of Chase on Raj, of Fionola in her gardens, and of Tyndal’s parents holding a child wrapped in a pink blanket.
Pink for a girl. When her father looked at his child, tears glistened in his eyes. Tears of joy. Beside the photo a folded, tear-stained newspaper clipping explained the accident. It listed Tyndal as the ‘surviving child.’
It didn’t seem that long between happiness and sorrow.
Between being loved and left alone.
Life took her mother and father, left her with pictures, a few memories. Grief. And fear. Life took Chase a few years later. Life taught her not to trust—not even the heartbeat she felt under her hand.
She had to stop thinking of all she’d lost, or could lose. She tried to focus as Bhetami settled into her steady trot. Leaving the auditorium, they headed for the barns and Tyndal fought to keep the smile on her face.
“Great ride, Tyndal!” “I really enjoyed your program!” “You sure make it look easy! Hey, maybe you could teach me to ride like that someday!”
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