by Toni Mari
After wrestling for ten minutes with the back sliding door, I made an opening wide enough to fit myself out. The outside horses had made tracks through the snow and were waiting for me by their feed tubs, or at least where they thought the feed tubs would be under the snow.
Using my gloved hands, I dug through the already wet and heavy melting snow and located the rubber feed pans. I couldn’t find the last one, and the little gelding was nickering and pawing for his food, so I dumped it on top of the snow. He scarfed it up with no problem. I carried hay an armful at a time and threw it over the fence for them.
I slogged up to the house, pausing on the porch to survey the fallen tree. The trunk was almost two feet in diameter and it had snapped like a toothpick. The massive cluster of top branches spanned half of the riding arena, obliterating the fence underneath. But what made me slightly nauseous was that the tips of those branches had scraped down the side of the barn. We dodged more than a bullet—it was a bomb.
Inside, I learned that, after getting Michelle’s agreement that EMA would help pay for it, Donna had arranged for a tree service to remove the tree. The service would not be able to come for a few days because of the overwhelming number of calls they were getting because of the storm.
After breakfast with Donna, I put the barn horses out for a short time. Windsong studied the fallen tree, and when it didn’t get up and move, he took off bucking and running, stopping to rear right in front of Santos. The calm red horse silently walked around him, bent his knees, and rolled happily in the snow. When he rose, he gave a mighty shake, sending droplets of water through the air.
I cleaned the stalls but had to pile the dirty bedding in the barn aisle because I couldn’t push the wheelbarrow through the snow and muck outside. There would definitely be no riding for a couple of days, so I concentrated on my schoolwork. It felt eminently satisfying to click send on my first assignment, imagining the paper whirling through cyberspace and landing in my professor’s virtual mailbox.
Closing my laptop and setting it on the dresser, I thought about a cappuccino. No way to get one. I dove onto the bed, planting my face on the pillow. If I couldn’t have a coffee, a nap was the next best thing.
I awoke disoriented and dug through the covers to find my phone. The lack of a window really messed with my internal clock. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night without natural light to judge by. There would be enough time to bring Windsong and Santos in and feed up before dinner. I trudged down the stairs, pulling my beanie low over my ears.
I prepared all the buckets, taking a little longer than Donna usually did because I had to keep checking the chart. I wrote the horses’ names on torn scraps of paper and threw them in the buckets to keep them straight. With their keen sense of hearing, the horses were all waiting at the gates for their afternoon meal—all of them except Windsong, who was lying out in the middle of his field.
I took Santos out of the pen first, thinking Windsong would hear the gate and get up. He was still out flat when I returned. I swung the gate open and, without bothering to close it, called his name as I walked toward him.
His head came up when I was within ten feet, and he blinked at me groggily. He straightened his legs, stretching as he rose, and then gave a full body shake. He waited for me to come to him, and I stuck my bare hand under his jacket, feeling for sweat, before I snapped on the lead. His coat was warm and dry.
I closed him in his stall and then dashed to the alcove. I rifled through my trunk and pulled out the stethoscope. Windsong was already down in his stall when I opened the door. I knelt down in the clean shavings, my hands shaking. Placing the circular bell near Windsong’s belly, I listened for gut sounds first—silence or a low number of sounds could signal colic. A loud, intense gurgle assaulted my ear and I snatched back the bell.
“Doesn’t sound like colic.” I moved the listening piece toward the spot behind his front leg. I counted the beats of his heart against my phone’s clock. Normal. Heartbeat wasn’t elevated at all. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Was he sick or not?
I couldn’t decide on my own and I wasn’t going to risk it being a side effect of the medication. I scrolled quickly through my contacts and called Dr. Clark.
He didn’t seem surprised to hear from me. “It is questionable behavior. The only way to tell for sure is to bring him in for an echocardiogram. I can transfer you to the admittance desk if you would like to schedule that.”
“Let me call you back.” I paced in front of Windsong’s stall. He lifted his head when Santos pounded the door, demanding his dinner. I waited a moment, but he didn’t get up.
I called Kate.
After listening to my quick recap, she advised me to take him to the clinic if I was that worried.
Was I that worried? I kept watching, unable to make a determination. I dumped Santos’s feed in his bin to quiet his begging. When Windsong heard Santos rattling the pellets around, he rose, shuffled to his feed bucket, and gave it a half-hearted bump with his head. He nickered softly and pawed the air in slow motion.
I set Windsong’s feed aside in case he was colicking. Picking up the other buckets, I jogged out to the field and flung the grain into the tubs. By the time I ran back to the barn, Windsong was nodding and nickering more loudly. He wanted to eat, but to be safe, I gave him only a handful of the grain in his bucket. He scarfed that up in seconds and started in on his hay, so I carried on with the feeding, taking hay outside and making separate piles for each horse.
I glanced at Windsong’s stall and couldn’t see him. He was lying down again.
I tugged out my phone and dialed Michelle. She listened carefully. “Maybe he’s just tired, he had a tough night. Or the drug is still in his system making him feel groggy. Wait a few hours before you do anything.”
“I’m no expert, Michelle. What if he’s having some sort of heart attack? I don’t know what that would sound like. The vet said I could bring him in.”
“No, don’t do that. I can’t explain away a million clinic visits to the board of directors, especially when I just promised to pay for that fallen tree so you can ride. That thing is gonna cost almost a thousand dollars! If he gets worse, call me back.”
Was this an emergency? I listened to Windsong’s heart again. Soft, normal thuds came through the ear pieces. If I held the bell to my own chest, I would go deaf from the thundering of my heart. I considered calling my father, but dismissed the idea quickly. He would probably say “I told you so” or “I’m not paying for it.”
I dialed Cory and was not surprised when he didn’t answer.
After a few minutes of standing there watching Windsong breathe, I pulled a hay bale over to sit down. It was too low for me to see into the stall, so I brought others enough to stack into a high, comfortable seat.
After a few more minutes, I was bored. I pulled out my phone and played a few games. Donna’s call interrupted just as I was tracing the winning string of jellies.
“Dinner is ready.”
I explained what I was doing. She came out carrying a covered plate and a soda. I arranged it on a towel. It smelled wonderful, but my stomach wasn’t calm enough yet to eat.
Donna looked over the stall door. Windsong groaned, sending clanging alarm bells screaming through my head. He stuck out a front leg, then the other, and hauled himself to his feet as if it was the hardest work he had ever done. He walked to Donna and calmly frisked her for treats. She fondled his cheeks for a moment. “He seems okay, now.”
I could barely hear what she said over the ringing in my ears. My hand over my heart, I took a deep breath. I had thought that was the groan of death, and I concentrated on convincing myself that he was alright. He was standing, eating hay; he was not prostrate without a heartbeat.
“I think I’m going to sleep out here tonight.”
Donna grimaced. “Are you sure? It’s going to get chilly.”
No chillier than I was last night with no heater; I could handle it. I shook my head to eras
e images of sleeping soundly in my bed and finding Windsong cold and stiff when I dumped his breakfast in his feed bin in the morning. “Absolutely.” If he was going to stop breathing, I wanted to be right here to pound on his heart until it started up again.
Donna shrugged. “At least, bring a blanket down.” She left me to my vigil.
The dinner was still delicious cold, and I ate every speck of it, sipping soda and staring at Windsong’s shiny, dark body. He ate his hay, shuffled around his stall, pooped, and drank some water.
After my soda can was empty, I threw the paper plate and can in the trash and ran up to get a blanket. I picked up my laptop, too.
I woke up disoriented, pushing the darkened computer off my lap. And then I remembered and searched for Windsong. He was down. I leapt off the hay bench and reached for the stethoscope. Before I opened the door, I realized Santos was down, too. I stood still, listening. Faint, rhythmic snores were coming from both animals. I spent a minute persuading myself not to disturb them by neurotically collecting Windsong’s vital statistics.
I sat on the hay and stared unblinking until Windsong stood up years later. I rubbed my dry eyes, and looked at the time on my phone. Three in the morning, and Windsong was standing over his bucket, hoof floating in the air, hoping I would dump the rest of his food in there. His meaning couldn’t be any clearer if he had spoken words.
I scooped up another handful and tossed it in. “You’re fine, aren’t you. This was all a ruse to drive me crazy.” He sniffed my hand, pushing it before taking another bite.
Santos was looking at me with hopeful eyes, and I couldn’t leave him with an empty bowl. I threw him a handful, too, and headed up to my bed, dragging my comforter and laptop with me.
Chapter 26
A drum roll of raindrops woke me in the morning. It was a cold, soaking rain, and I kept Windsong and Santos inside. I also brought in the two skinny horses, who happily shook out their wet coats and rolled in the dry shavings. They put their heads over their doors and nickered for breakfast, looking like powdered donuts.
I fed the rest of the horses in their sheds where they were escaping the rain. The tree was gone from the riding arena, but the footing was dotted with puddles. Without an indoor, there would be no riding in this weather. Another day off for Windsong. After cleaning the two stalls, I spent the morning grooming.
Windsong was acting completely normal and really needed only a dusting off. He generously allowed me to spend time with the other three, only pawing for treats now and then.
After I vigorously curried Santos, there was enough red hair on the floor to stuff a pillow. I rubbed aloe cream into his scars and began to untangle his mane. After a few frustrating minutes, I stalked to my tack trunk and dug out the pulling blade and thinning shears. I couldn’t imagine anyone would complain if I shortened that mess without asking. A half hour later and another pile of hair on the floor, Santos came closer to resembling the superstar sport horse that he was.
Satisfied with my progress, I swept the hair up and planned the same attack on the two rescues.
It was still raining by the time Donna came home from work, and I informed her that I would keep Marty and Chipper—a name I came up with because his coat was the color of a chocolate chip—inside so they would be comfortable.
“If that’s okay, I mean.”
“Sounds good. How’s Windsong?” She went around and petted and loved on each horse, mine included.
“He’s seems fine. I guess I got a little paranoid.”
She squeezed my arm. “Better paranoid than neglectful. They all look fantastic. You did a lot today. I’m impressed. Come on, let’s go eat.”
I paused to listen to the steady sound of powerful equine jaws crunching delectable, sweet-smelling hay. It may not be a fancy new show barn, but the horses inside it were feeling pretty coddled right now. Closing the door on my charges, I followed Donna to the house for dinner and smiled. I pulled up my hood with sore, aching arms but there was a bounce in my step.
Finally, the sun was shining and the makeshift arena was dry. I led Windsong into the ring and settled onto his back with a grin. Even a few days seemed like too long to be out of the saddle.
Focused on practicing the most difficult sequence in my freestyle, I didn’t pay any attention to Santos when he whinnied loudly. Pushing my leg into Windsong’s shoulder, I angled his neck to the side. He reached sideways with his outside front leg for five or six strides before I straightened him, trotted around the corners and pointed him across the diagonal for flying lead changes. Counting in my head, I rocked my weight from one hip to the other, bumping his ribs every four strides. We skipped across the arena, and then I loosened the reins and let Windsong open his stride for a lap around the perimeter.
Looking up for the first time in a few minutes, I was surprised to see Mark standing at the gate. He silently clapped his hands. I slowed Windsong and stopped in front of him.
“Hi.” My eyes traveled past his head to the figure feeding treats to Santos.
Mark looked over his shoulder. “Mandy came this time. Actually, I made her come.”
My jaw dropped. Cute, outgoing, towheaded Mandy had black-as-night hair, black motorcycle boots, a black studded belt, all covered by a black leather jacket that sported an amazing number of zipper pockets.
“Wow.” I couldn’t think of any other words.
“I know. City kids, wrong crowd.”
She turned and came up next to her dad. “Can we go now?”
The face under all the heavy makeup, the dagger earrings, and the hostile stare were unrecognizable. If Mark hadn’t said it was Mandy, I would have politely introduced myself to this stranger. “You grew.”
I blanched at the “duh” look she gave me.
“Has Santos run through the fence anymore?” Mark asked, giving Mandy a stern look of his own.
“No, but I’ve kept him up close with Windsong. They’ve become friends.”
“He looks a little cleaner, thanks.”
“No problem.”
Mandy maintained an indifferent, detached posture.
“Mandy, would you like to see the latest rescues?” I tried, as I slid down from Windsong.
“No.” She didn’t even look at me.
“They’re next to Santos.”
“Stop pretending to be my friend. If you’re trying to take my mom’s place at EMA, forget it. My dad will stop you. Right, Dad?”
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean, Mandy?”
“The posters, the ads, the magazine articles. My mom was so much prettier than you. EMA was my mother’s rescue, she did everything for EMA, they can’t put you in her place. You will never be as good as her.”
“I know. It’s a great organization. I’m just trying to help EMA. To honor your mother,” I said in my most soothing voice.
“You have no right to be on those posters and in that magazine. You’re nobody. I hate you!”
“Amanda!” Mark put his hands on her shoulders and spun her toward the barn. “That’s enough. We’ll be leaving now.”
Stunned, I was jerked off my feet when Windsong leapt sideways. I grabbed the rein for balance and stopped him from running into Mark’s back. Santos was pawing the gate and causing a ruckus that encouraged Windsong to jump and jig.
I circled Windsong in front of Santos as father and daughter entered the barn. Santos galloped the fence line, searching for his family. He finally stopped pawing and dashing about but stared over Windsong’s back as they appeared at the other end. He watched as they got in the car and pulled away, and he whinnied loudly one more time.
I knew what he was feeling. Closing my eyes, I remembered. During the one month that I lived in her house, Mandy used to lie across my bed, chattering about sharing clothes and shopping. She was happy to have another girl to talk to, and she often talked about her crush on Shawn. Shawn and I worked hard training for the team championship. Erica, so beautiful and vivacious, treated
us like her family. Mandy hung around me, the little sister I never had. And I felt so close to all of them so quickly, even Mark. A half smile teased my lips as I remembered Shawn picking Mandy up and tossing her into the pool as I enjoyed the tingly anticipation of knowing he was coming for me next.
That was all gone. Was Mark going to stop me, request that EMA fire me? Mandy was acting out because she missed her mom, but would her father be influenced by that? A savvy businessman like Mark would look at the results before acting on his grief-stricken thirteen-year-old’s words, wouldn’t he? Another reason I had better be fantastic at the Festival of Champions.
I needed to see the articles and ads that Mandy was talking about. Were people leaving comments? Would I be able to tell if their reactions were positive or negative?
I worked quickly to take care of Windsong and turn him back out, and then I ran upstairs.
Chapter 27
The clicking of the keys as I typed my name into the web browser was the only sound in the room. I took a sip of protein drink and waited for the results.
This couldn’t be real. The first hit was an article in Dressage America with my image on the cover. I was exiting the arena on Windsong with my fist in the air, a wide, joyful grin on my face. I stared at it. I remembered thinking about Erica and her fans as I rode through the gate because it was the first time I had people cheering for me. I clicked on the link and found the article.
When I finished reading it, I rubbed my hands over my face. The writer used words like “new dressage star,” “up and comer,” “a role model for the sport.” A whole paragraph was about my involvement with EMA Rescue and how I represented the type of horsewoman they believed in. Only one sentence mentioned Erica and her creation of the charity.
I scrolled back to the photographs. Windsong’s coat looked like polished ebony; his chiseled head, elegant and expressive. My white-gloved hand was raised to the crowd, which was a multicolored blur in the background. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for all those years of braces and dental visits making my smile glow. It was surreal, like the image was someone else.
