Leap of Faith

by Fiona McCallum

  Jessica tried to remember when she and Steve had last had a holiday – actually left the farm. They had honeymooned six and a half years ago and Jessica’s parents had moved in to keep an eye on everything. Having a holiday off the place was such a major undertaking that it was easier just to stay home. It wasn’t fair to put their whole stockholding and livelihood in the hands of anyone else. And it was really too much responsibility to place on friends, though plenty had made the offer. Sadly, now neither of them had family who could step into the breach. So, instead of formal holidays, they tended to do the odd weekend away – usually coinciding with travelling for one of Jessica’s horse events or a stock or clearing sale that Steve wanted to attend. They had also been known to go camping for a week or two and had done so a few times with Todd and Tiffany, but never further away than would allow Steve to do a daily check of the property and stock.

  Friends and fellow farmers regularly had digs at them about their fastidiousness. While they always laughed them off, the truth was they were proud of their standards. They wouldn’t be where they were if they ran a slack operation – like many who jibed them did. Not that they would ever point that out; each to their own, and all that.

  Right, I’ll watch Sunrise until it finishes. Then I’ll … I’ll what?

  She wondered if she should log into her Facebook account – apparently that sucked up lots of time. She’d only recently created an account, mainly to appease the many friends and acquaintances who had been urging her to for years now. She was one of the few people alive who could use the internet but wasn’t on Facebook every day. The few times she’d logged on, all she’d seen was stupid posts from people announcing they were off to walk their dogs, or which restaurant they were eating at, etc. It was really quite annoying. Who cared what you were doing any moment of any day? As it was, she lost quite a bit of time between Googling and online shopping, which she happily did quite regularly. But aimlessly browsing shopping sites for the next six weeks could be very dangerous. Perhaps best to leave the laptop alone.

  So, after Sunrise she’d watch a movie or start reading one of the books Tiffany had brought; she’d see how she felt. Then at noon she could eat her sandwich and that would be the morning dealt with. She’d worry about filling the rest of her day later.

  Feeling a little better thanks to her planning, Jessica snuggled down into the cushions, turned the sound up, and pulled the throw rug over her.

  Soon she was seeing but not really watching the show and gave in, closing her heavy eyes. Just a short nap, she told herself, as she sank deeper into the cushions and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Before long the voices of the presenters became a far-off hum.

  Chapter Seven

  Jessica’s eyes opened suddenly. It looked like The Morning Show was wrapping up. Soon the midday movie would be starting. She tried to remember the last thing she’d been listening to on the television with her eyes closed. Surely I can’t have slept that long? Though she hadn’t really been fully asleep; she’d been aware of the hum of the TV in the depths of her mind the whole time. Hadn’t she? She checked her watch. As she registered the time, the pain gnawing in her leg served as an additional reminder: she could have another lot of painkillers right about now with her lunch.

  As Jessica retrieved her crutches and hoisted herself up, she felt a little surge of satisfaction that she’d managed to while away three full hours. And she hadn’t even had a nightmare. That was the good thing about it. She made her way to the kitchen bench.

  Or had she? Slowly, snippets came back to her. She had been riding a cross-country course on Prince – the cross-country course, she realised with a sigh. But she’d woken just before the bend into the approach to the water jump, sparing her from reliving the fall and the drowning feeling. Hopefully it was a sign the bad dreams were behind her.

  Jessica opened the fridge to retrieve the ham and cheese sandwich in its zip-lock bag. There was a bright pink post-it note on top bearing the words, ‘Enjoy! Ring me if you need me. Lots of love, Steve.’ Tears welled unexpectedly in her eyes. Clearly overtired. She turned her head and wiped first one side of her face on her shoulder and then the other.

  As she sat slowly eating the sandwich, Jessica felt a wave of loneliness engulf her. No, it couldn’t be loneliness, she told herself; she was a strong, independent woman and she and Steve spent plenty of time apart. Anyway, he was only over at the yards. But telling herself that just added to the guilt and frustration already consuming her. She wouldn’t feel nearly so bad if it had been a car accident, or something unrelated to horses.

  Steve would say an accident is an accident and that what was done was done, and she might as well accept she was out of action for a bit and enjoy some rest. As would Tiffany. But Jessica just wasn’t cut out for sitting around – she missed her horses and her students already. It gave her such a thrill to work with them week after week and help them improve, no matter what level they were at. One of the younger ones, Katie, had started off as such a nervous rider and Jessica had been tempted to tell her parents that she didn’t think riding was the right sport for their daughter. But Katie had persevered and was now, in less than a year, starting to even tackle low jumps. A couple of her pupils were quite advanced competitors and keeping the training up was critical. Jessica didn’t like that she’d be letting them down, as much as she didn’t like the idea of not being able to work with her own horses.

  Perhaps when the pain subsided in a few days she’d be able to hobble about without crutches and do the feeds and rugging. Maybe she could even supervise some students. If she hadn’t been feeling so tired and out of it, she could have managed a bit of bookwork. She should probably force herself to do it, but couldn’t muster the required effort. She was already turning into a couch potato.

  Oh for goodness’ sake, it’s day two of six weeks. You’ve got a good man taking care of you and picking up the slack. You’re allowed to relax and take some time out. The words sounded very much like Tiffany’s. Jessica sighed. It wasn’t as if she had much choice right now.

  She finished her sandwich and poured herself a cup of coffee from the thermos. As she sipped, a strange calmness came upon her. What if Tiffany was right, and everything – good and bad – happened for a reason? Could her accident have been a way for the universe to stop her in her tracks?

  Both Tiffany and Steve had been worried that she hadn’t grieved enough for her father. They’d now stopped saying anything about it, but Jessica had detected odd glances between them since. She wasn’t sure what they expected her to do. Carrying on was what she knew – Collinses didn’t drop their bundles and sit crying in corners. Jeff Collins hadn’t when he’d lost his wife, and Jessica had followed his lead. She’d simply and silently sobbed in the confines of the loo for a few nights before firmly telling herself tears didn’t solve anything.

  It was something her father had driven home plenty of times since she’d started riding, after every fall, after every poor dressage test, cross-country and show jumping round. She’d be upset and he’d say, ‘Just get back on’, or ‘You’ll just have to do better next time’, depending on the situation. He would have been furious with her at losing concentration this time and presenting Prince at the fence so badly. Forget her injury, Jeff Collins would probably only have let her off the hook if she’d ended up in a wheelchair for life.

  Jessica tried to tell herself she was being too hard on him, and heard her mother’s voice clear in her head: ‘Don’t speak ill of the dead.’ But a newsreel of memories of minor injuries began rolling in her mind, starting with the time she’d fallen while training over the huge Irish bank he’d put in.

  She’d known her arm was broken when she’d hit the ground – the snap had been so loud she couldn’t believe her father hadn’t heard it too. She’d screamed in agony, but what had he done? Thrown her back into the saddle and told her to do it again – properly this time. And with the pain and shock making tears stream down her face, blinding her,
she had done as she was told.

  Twice more she’d had to go through, and could barely stand when she’d finally got back to the stables and dismounted. She shook uncontrollably. She was twelve. She’d felt her ‘snivelling like a girl’ had been vindicated later that night when her mother brought her home from the hospital in plaster, but there was no apology from her father. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,’ he’d said with a shrug more times than Jessica could ever have counted.

  It had been his mantra. He’d also been fond of regularly reminding her about each of the Olympians who had gallantly carried on with their cross-country rounds while seriously injured. And of course he’d been right. Jessica Collins was well known for her robust, fearless nature out on course. She’d learnt, thanks to her father’s tough love, to rise above the pain. And to conquer the fear, after being made to go around their course of jumps at home plenty of times with her eyes closed, without stirrups or without reins.

  He’d been a hard taskmaster, but he’d got her to where she was. Jessica couldn’t help thinking, though, that she wouldn’t have a busted leg if he was still alive – she probably would have been more focussed.

  At least she hadn’t been part of a team and hadn’t let anyone down but Prince and herself. Well, and her father. She wasn’t at all religious and didn’t really believe there was a heaven where everyone who had died was lying about stretched out in deck-chairs like at a resort, watching the goings-on down below on earth. But she did have the uneasy feeling that Jeff Collins would know she had let him down. He had always seemed to know everything.

  Here she was breaking the number one rule: Always get back on the horse straight away. Sure, she’d had no choice, but that didn’t mean the rule wasn’t broken. And when she could get back on, would she have the necessary drive to do it alone after such a setback? What if her whole riding career had pivoted on her dad’s presence? Oh God, how was she going to carry on successfully without him by her side?

  Tiffany and Steve would say Jeff was still there. And while it might be true to some extent, he certainly wasn’t standing there yelling at her not to be a wuss and just face up to the damned jump!

  Shit, what if this is it? What if this is the sign to stop riding? There would be a huge hole in her life. Horses were everything to her – they weren’t like a motorbike that you took out when you wanted a ride; they made up a sizeable chunk of her whole existence. Jessica couldn’t even conjure up an image in her mind of not having horses.

  She shook her head. No, she was being melodramatic. She was tired, overly emotional, probably still in shock for all she knew, and on pretty heavy painkillers. It was all messing with her mind. She needed some decent sleep and when the pain subsided she’d feel less useless. Meanwhile, she’d put on a happy face – fake it until she made it. The flashing light on the phone handset caught her attention. Maybe not to the point where she could be bothered returning calls though. It was nice that people cared enough to call, but why did they think hearing about how well a particular rider had done would make her feel better when she’d bombed out?

  She decided to play the too-injured-to-do-it card and ask Steve to make some quick, polite phone calls on her behalf. According to friends, if she was on Facebook, she could put a note up and let everyone know in one hit. That wouldn’t exactly pass her mother’s test of good manners, but it would be something. Though she had very few ‘friends’ on Facebook, anyway. Perhaps she’d send a group email.

  She sat up straight, suddenly remembering again the few pupils she had booked in for instruction. She sighed. She’d have to get Steve to call them too; she was in no condition to supervise those kids, let alone teach them anything.

  *

  Jessica was woken from her nap by the sound of a vehicle pulling up out front. It was about the right time for it to be Steve, but she remained where she was in case it wasn’t and the visitor noticed her through the window. Bored and lonely she might be, but she still really didn’t feel up to being sociable.

  No one came to the door and a few minutes later she heard a whistle and Steve calling the horses by name. Jessica struggled to her crutches and went over to the large window to see what was going on. She was just in time to watch Steve standing at the day yards holding up a tub and the horses cantering over. She found herself genuinely smiling for the first time that day. She loved seeing their manes flying, their heads held high and their ears pricked as they came on command. The sound of their hooves thundering across the paddock was wonderful.

  Often the horses would come to a sudden halt just before hitting the electric fence, their hooves leaving skid marks. And there had been plenty of times they’d turned and raced off again, prancing, bucking and rearing, and burning off excess energy before settling in for the night. While she enjoyed the spectacle, Jessica didn’t like that it caused them to sweat under their rugs. Usually she’d put a dry under-rug on to ensure they couldn’t catch a chill from staying in a damp one. Steve wouldn’t be expected to know that. She put her worry aside – it was cool, both horses were in peak fitness and had only done a short canter from the other side of the paddock. Steve rubbed their heads as they tucked into their feeds before starting on their rugs.

  She was back on the couch as he came in, followed by Laurel and Hardy, who hopped up on the couch beside her. She was half expecting them to be smelly, having been in the yards with cattle all day. The dust of stock yards always had a distinct smell – a mixture of dirt, dung, animal sweat and a faint trace of chemicals. Sheep smelt slightly different – they had a greasy lanolin scent and their dung was less pungent than cattle’s. But no offensive odours wafted up from the dogs.

  ‘How was your day?’ Steve asked from the end of the small passageway, just as Jessica opened her mouth to ask him the same question.

  ‘Quiet, fine. How about you?’

  ‘All good. Gary says hi and wishes you a speedy recovery. And the good news is these guys didn’t find any corpses to roll in,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the dogs. While he sounded relatively upbeat, Jessica could see and hear the weariness he was carrying. ‘But I need a shower before I do anything; I’m filthy. Won’t be long.’

  And exhausted – you look exhausted. She felt terrible that he’d put in a full day with the stock – tiring enough in its own right – and then had to come home, see to her horses and get their dinner organised.

  Later, working her way through the delicious meal of steak, chips and salad he’d prepared, Jessica cringed at how drawn Steve looked, and how slowly he moved. She so badly wanted to lighten his load. Making phone calls was one thing she could physically do, and should do … She hated herself for her pathetic selfishness, but the thought of phoning people, having to talk about her accident, hear their sympathy, listen to their own war stories, compare notes, filled her with an almost paralysing dread. She nibbled on her lip and worried about how to ask Steve to do it instead. She was getting dangerously close to taking advantage of him and his kind nature.

  As she and Steve settled into bed that night, Jessica silently prayed – to whomever, whatever – that she might have a calm, restful sleep free of nightmares.

  ‘I think you’d better get a little vitamin D tomorrow,’ Steve said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘It’s going to be twenty-two and sunny. I don’t want you getting sick, or osteoporosis, or anything. I’ll set you up out on the front deck.’

  ‘Okay, good idea,’ Jessica said. But she was thinking she didn’t want to be out there and visible if anyone decided to pop in. She wondered briefly if her newly acquired aversion to human contact was normal, but tossed it aside.

  ‘Hey, can I ask yet another favour?’

  ‘Sure. Anything for you, my love.’

  Jessica could barely look at him. ‘Could you return some phone calls for me? I’m really not up to speaking to anyone else about how the event went and how happy they were, or otherwise, with their performances.’

  ‘Why don’t you just send so
me text messages, that way you won’t have to talk to them?’

  Because I don’t want to. ‘Could you do it? Please?’ she said, knowing she was pouting like a sulky teenager, but didn’t care. She really didn’t want to talk to anyone beyond Steve, Tiffany, the horses and the dogs right now.

  ‘Fine. I’ll call or text everyone tomorrow before I go grocery shopping.’

  ‘You are the best husband in the entire world,’ she said, forcing herself to bestow a beaming, grateful smile upon him. ‘Well, goodnight then.’ She gave him a kiss. He pulled her to him for a brief, tight hug before kissing her on the forehead and releasing her.

  ‘Sleep tight. No nightmares tonight,’ he added.

  ‘I hope not.’

  Her painkillers were already doing their thing and making her woozy. She’d have liked to not need them, but she wouldn’t have been able to sleep with the splintering pain working its way up and down her leg. She hoped she wasn’t about to become addicted. Who was she kidding? She was one of the most strong-willed, determined people she knew, not that she was feeling anything like that at the moment. She was just enjoying the nice, cotton-woolly feeling of pain relief.

  Chapter Eight

  Jessica woke feeling like she hadn’t had any sleep at all. Her eyes were gritty and burning, and her throat felt tight. When she reached for her crutches to make her way to the loo, she felt like she was carrying around the lead apron they used for X-rays.

  Steve rolled over to face her as she hefted herself back into bed and pulled the covers up.

  ‘You must have slept better,’ he said, ‘no nightmares.’ A statement, not a question.

  ‘Yeah, better thanks,’ she lied. If she used fewer words it wouldn’t feel so bad. She really didn’t like lying to Steve, but she also didn’t want him worrying. He didn’t need to know she’d woken maybe a dozen times through the night, gripped with fear, her heart racing. And if she’d managed to keep from tossing and turning and waking him up, well, so much the better. He was too busy to be dragging around tired eyes and weary bones. She just hoped the heaviness in her own eyes wouldn’t be as bad as she feared it might look in the bright light of day.