A Hourse to Love (14 page)

“Chad,” Mrs. Chambers screamed as she ran toward the scene, “cal nine one one! There’s a phone in the barn office! Hurry!”

Skye sat frozen in the saddle. She steadied Champ as he puffed madly, stil prancing, anxious to complete his course, to run like the wind.

Skye watched numbly as Morgan and Blaze gal oped toward the unconscious man while Mrs.

Chambers and the others ran behind, their faces alive with fear. Skye felt like her brain was coated with fuzz. Panic clutched her heart and al she could think to do was run away.

She yanked Champ’s reins to the right and dug her heels into his sides. In a flash, the two were off, racing across the back of the field, past the wal , past every other jump, and down behind the pond
.

As fast as Champ is
,
they’ll never catch me!
Skye reassured herself.

“I’l get her!” Skye heard Morgan yel ing.

“No, I need you here. Let her go!” Mrs. Chambers screamed.

I’ve killed him!
Skye thought frantical y.
I’ve gotta
get outta here!
She jerked Champ to a stop at a gate. In her haste, Skye practical y fel off the horse, fumbled with the latch on the gate, and swung it open before scrambling back on Champ and kicking him sharply. “Let’s go!” Skye yel ed.

They gal oped down the road, dust flying, until they disappeared into the shadows of the thick woods, running like the wind . . . running away again.

Skye never looked back.

S
kye sat alone and miserable on a bench at the altar at Piney Hol ow. In minutes Champ’s lightning speed had brought her to the hideaway, far from the horror of what had just happened. She had cooled him down and now sat in front of the stone cross, wondering what had gone so terribly wrong.

Even though the setting sun ushered a cool evening breeze through the hol ow, Skye sat in a nervous sweat, thinking about the events of the last several months, worrying about what might happen next.

“Why do I always mess up?” she cried out to the cross. “Why do I always have to be the big shot? I
deserve
to go to jail!”

The Chambers had been wonderful to her. They were tough but fair, and they cared. They had proven it time and time again.

Morgan cared too and treated her like the sister she never had.

Then there was Champ.

Skye turned and looked at the beautiful horse standing in al of his show-gear glory, resting at the rail with his one rear leg cocked at ease. He had given her a reason to live, a reason to care, a reason to love.

But what about Mr. C? What if he was really
dead?

Skye turned back to the altar and her eyes

focused on the cross, a symbol of God’s love that meant absolutely nothing to her. This God, whom she didn’t even know existed, loved her? As rotten as she was?

Skye stumbled to the altar and knelt at the cross, sobbing out her pain and despair.

“Please, God! He can’t be dead!” she screamed.

“He can’t be!”

Behind her she heard the creaking of a saddle as someone dismounted. Footsteps crunched on the gravel.

“Skye.” A gentle hand touched her shoulder.

Final y, Skye turned and looked up into swol en, red eyes.

“Mrs. Chambers, I’m so sorry!” Skye cried.

“I know, Skye,” Mrs. Chambers said. She pul ed Skye into her embrace and gently kissed the tears on her face. “It’l be al right. I love you.” Mrs. Chambers’ arms wrapped firmly around Skye’s quivering frame. And for the first time in her life, Skye didn’t resist. With an open heart, she welcomed what this woman offered — the tender touch of a mother. Skye sobbed like a love-starved baby. They stood hugging one another for a long time as Skye cried in sorrow for al she had done and suffered through the years.

Final y, Mrs. Chambers said, “We have to go.”

“What about Mr. Chambers?” Skye cried. “Is he dead?”

“No. I’l tel you on the way to the hospital.” Skye sat next to Mrs. Chambers in a waiting room on the third fl oor of Broadview General Hospital, her eyes red and puffy. Pastor Newman and Morgan completed the circle that fil ed a corner of the quiet room draped in midnight shadows.

Mrs. Chambers studied her watch. “It’s been four hours.”

“He has a severe concussion and head trauma,” Pastor Newman said. “It takes a while for them to go in and relieve the pressure. Don’t worry, Eileen. He’s strong. He’l come out of this just fine.” Beyond tired, Skye focused on the three people around her, noticing each one’s anxiety blanketed in an aura of peace. She studied each face intently through her tears, wondering what made them so strong.

Their faith?
Skye asked herself.
Maybe it isn’t a
bunch of baloney after all. Maybe God is real.

Pastor Newman pul ed out a smal Bible from his shirt pocket. “This is the perfect time to look to God for help,” he said as he turned the pages. “There are wonderful promises in God’s Word to help us through times of crisis. Listen to this from the book of Isaiah, chapter twenty-six: ‘You wil keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord, is the Rock eternal.’ ”

Skye’s eyes shifted to the floor, her face reflecting questions and doubt.
But if you’re so great
,
God
,
how could you let this happen?

“I love that verse,” Mrs. Chambers said. “I don’t know where we’d be without the Lord’s strength.

He’s in control and he’l bring good out of this.” She reached over and gently squeezed Skye’s hand.

Mrs. Chambers’ warm, supportive hand wrapped securely around Skye’s seemed to draw their hearts together. Skye looked at her foster mother’s face, which somehow stil bore a smile that lit up the room.

Skye smiled back through her tears.

Pastor Newman put the Bible down and extended his hands. “Let’s pray for Tom again. I know God has heard us, but let’s thank him for what he’s doing in that operating room.”

Morgan and Mrs. Chambers joined hands with Pastor Newman. Mrs. Chambers grasped Skye’s hand tightly at the same time Morgan reached for the other.

Skye glanced up just as the others bowed their heads, and she too bowed hers.

“Dear Heavenly Father . . .” Pastor Newman began.

For the first time in her life
,
Skye needed —

wanted — to pray, but she didn’t know how. Pastor Newman was so good at it. Would the Lord hear her?

God
, Skye prayed silently,
if you’re really there
,
I
hope you’re listening. Please
,
please help Mr. C. It
was all my fault. Don’t let him die or be paralyzed or
anything. Please!
Warm tears ran down her face and dropped on her lap.

“We commit Tom into your hands. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen,” Pastor Newman concluded.

“Mrs. Chambers?” a doctor said as he entered the room.

Everyone turned toward the man in light green scrubs. His face bore tired relief.

“Yes?” Mrs. Chambers said as she stood.

“Your husband is going to be fine!”

“Thank God,” she said. “Can I see him?” The doctor slowly pul ed off his scrub cap. “Not until he’s out of recovery. The best thing for al of you is to get some rest. He’s stable now. If there’s any change in his condition, we’l cal you right away. I’l look in on him early tomorrow morning.” He turned to leave.

“Thank you, doctor,” Mrs. Chambers said. She smiled at the group. “God does answer prayer.”

“I deserve to be in that bed, not Mr. Chambers,” Skye cried as she buried her face in her hands and wept. “It’s al my fault, and I don’t blame you if you send me away. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Her words were muffled through her hands.

“Skye, honey, I’ve already forgiven you,” Mrs.

Chambers said. She pul ed Skye into a warm embrace. “You don’t have to keep asking. I love you, and it’s settled.”

“And she’s not going anywhere. Is she, Mrs.

C?”Morgan added, smiling through her tears.

“Not now. Not ever,” Mrs. Chambers replied. She held Skye at arm’s length and gently brushed the tears from her face. “She can stay with us as long as she wants.”

Through a flood of tears, Skye looked into Mrs.

Chambers’ own tear-fil ed eyes, eyes that would be special to Skye from that day forward.

Skye’s search for the love she so desperately sought was over. Now she looked into the eyes of a mother who cared, a mother who loved her beyond her faults and al of her sil y mistakes.

“Skye,” Pastor Newman said as he stood, “that’s the way God’s love is too. He loves us unconditional y and forgives us no matter what we’ve done. Al we need to do is ask for his forgiveness with a humble and sincere heart.”

At last Skye understood. She understood the unconditional love of a mother who real y cared, and she was beginning to understand the unconditional love of a God who cares as wel . She knew she would never be the same.

“Let’s go home,” Morgan said.

“Yes, let’s go home,” Mrs. Chambers agreed. She slipped her arm around Skye’s shoulders and turned toward the door.

“Home?” Skye asked as a smile covered her tearstained face. “Home.”

A Letter to my

Keystone Stables Fans

Dear Reader,

Are you crazy about horses like I am? Are you fortunate enough to have a horse now, or are you dreaming about the day when you wil have one of your very own?

I’ve been crazy about horses ever since I can remember. When I was a child I lived where I couldn’t have a horse. Even if I had lived in the country, my folks didn’t have the money to buy me one. So, as I grew up in a smal coal town in central Pennsylvania, I dreamed about horses and col ected horse pictures and horse models. I drew horse pictures and wrote horse stories, and I read every horse book I could get my hands on.

For Christmas when I was ten, I received a leather-fringed western jacket and a cowgirl hat.

Weather permitting, I wore them when I walked to and from school.On the way, I imagined that I was riding a gleaming white steed into a world of mountain trails and forest paths.

Occasional y, during the summer, my mother took me to a riding academy where I rode a horse for one hour at a time. I always rubbed my hands (and hard!) on my mount before we left the ranch. For the rest of the day I tried not to wash my hands so I could smel the horse and remember the great time I had. Of course, I never could sit at the dinner table without Mother first sending me to the faucet to get rid of that

“awful stench.”

To get my own horse, I had to wait until I grew up, married, and bought a home in the country with enough land for a barn and a pasture. Moon Doggie, my very first horse, was a handsome brown and white pinto Welsh Mountain Pony. Many other equines came to live at our place where, in later years, my husband and I also opened our hearts to foster kids who needed a caring home. Most of the kids loved the horses as much as I did.

Although owning horses and rearing foster kids are now in my past, I fondly remember my favorite steed, who has long since passed from the scene.

Rex, part Quarter Horse and part Tennessee Walker, was a 14 ½ hands-high bay. Rex was the kind of horse every kid dreams about.With a smooth walking gait, he gave me a thril ing ride every time I climbed into the saddle. Yet he was so gentle a young child could sit confidently on his back. Rex loved sugar cubes and nuzzled my pockets to find them. When cleaning his hooves, al I had to do was touch the target leg, and he lifted his hoof into my waiting hands. Rex was my special horse, and although he died at the ripe old age of twenty-five many years ago, I stil miss him.