A Hourse to Love (7 page)

released her hand from the horn, reaching cautiously toward Champ’s neck. Gently, Skye crawled her fingers under his thick, flowing mane and stroked his coat, which was warm from the rays of the sun — as warm as her now not-so-angry heart. She took a deep breath and smiled.

“Good boy, Champ,” she said. She felt herself becoming part of the horse, part of something she thought she hated. “You are real y cool!”
O
ver the next few days the Chambers monitored Skye while she spent hours on Champ, riding him in the corral, learning to saddle and bridle him, brushing him, and loving him. The “I-hate-animals” part of her had been replaced by a glow inside that drew her to the beautiful horse, as wel as to Tip and Ty.

“You’re a natural-born rider,” both Mr. and Mrs.

Chambers said as they taught Skye. By Friday she was out in the pasture learning to ride while Mr.

Chambers used a lunging line on Champ. Already she knew how to use her legs to shift the horse’s weight while jogging in circles.“Left lead! Right lead!

Back him up! Use your knees!” She had never been given so many orders in such a short time, but now she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at al .

On Tuesday afternoon while Skye stood in Champ’s stal brushing him and combing his mane and tail, Morgan motored into the barn with a bridle on her lap and a lead rope in her hands. She was headed for one of the stal s.

Skye paused and leaned out over the bottom half of the Dutch door, watching her pass. Final y, overcome with curiosity, she said, “Hey! What’s up?” Morgan stopped and turned her chair toward Skye. “Tuesday’s one of my days to give Blaze a workout. We’re getting ready for the horse show in August.”

“What do you do? Walk the horses, brush them, or what?”

“Duh!” Morgan jested as she poked her index finger in her cheek and made a face. “What do you think I do? Just sit in this chair twenty-four seven?

The dun mare down in the last stal is mine.”

“No way,” Skye laughed. “You can’t be serious.

How can you ride a horse?”

“Come on,” Morgan said. “I’l show you.” She headed toward the end of the barn.

Skye slipped through the half door and placed the currycomb in a bucket outside the stal .

“I only need a little help with the gear and then, of course, getting on,” Morgan said, swinging open the wooden gate to Blaze’s stal . “Here, Blaze.” The horse gently stepped in front of Morgan and lowered her head into the girl’s lap. Morgan clipped the lead rope on Blaze’s halter and motored out of the barn with Skye fol owing far behind them.

Outside, Morgan tied Blaze to a post next to a wooden ramp and platform with railings that looked like a porch with no house. Skye watched as the horse squared up like she had probably done a zil ion times before.

Mr. Chambers came around from the back of the barn carrying a blanket and a strange-looking saddle with a high horn and a higher back. He placed them on Blaze, tightening the cinch.

“There you go, Morgan.”

Skye watched Morgan motor up the long wooden ramp onto the platform and position herself to put the bridle on Blaze.

“Do you want to help?” Morgan asked.

“Sure, why not,” Skye said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Check on the other side to make sure the brow band is on correctly around the ears, okay?”

“Okay,” Skye said, making sure the bridle fit correctly. She glanced under Blaze’s head at Morgan. She stil couldn’t quite believe this disabled kid was going to ride a horse without fal ing off.

“Ready, Morgan?” Mr. Chambers asked.

“Yep.”

Mr. Chambers gently lifted her from the wheelchair into the supportive saddle and secured her legs tightly with two Velcro straps on each side of the horse.

“Huh,” Skye said, watching Morgan jog to the center of the field. The warm-up exercises were even more impressive, but Skye was blown away when Morgan completed a barrel race in lightning-fast time.

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Mrs. Chambers said, joining her husband and Skye as they leaned against the fence. “Ask her to show you the ribbons on display in her bedroom. Most of them are blue.”

“No kidding,” Skye said.

Skye’s ten-day suspension seemed to fly by. Never had she enjoyed a school suspension so much, even with al the uncertainties and the fact that she was missing her friends. She couldn’t help thinking that getting suspended again, or expel ed for that matter, would be a cool idea. Then she could spend al her time with Champ.

The warmth of Saturday’s sun released the sights and smel s of a perfect spring day. The horses frisked about in the pasture, running down to the pond, chasing and nibbling at each other. And now, not even two weeks after she first touched a horse, Skye found herself on Champ, fol owing Mrs.

Chambers and Pepsi on a dirt road in back of the pond.

“You know, Skye, it’s nothing short of a miracle the way you’ve taken to horses,” her foster mother said as she led the way along a trail through the woods.

“Are you sure you’ve never ridden before?” Mrs.

Chamber’s blue eyes smiled from beneath a suede Stetson hat.

It had been a long time since Skye had told a big lie just for the sake of tel ing one. She needed practice, and now was the perfect time. “Wel , I did know how when I was little, but I forgot,” she answered curtly.

“Oh, I see,” Mrs. Chambers replied. “Wel , relax and enjoy the ride,” she added. “I’m going to give you a crash course on trail riding. Ah, maybe I should rephrase that. I’m going to show you the ins and outs of trail riding. And I want to show you a very special place. Bring Champ up here. There’s no need for you two to fol ow us. The road is wide enough for both horses.”

Skye clicked her tongue and confidently rubbed her calves along her horse’s bel y. With a hop, Champ started jogging, coming alongside Pepsi and matching her pace. It was like being in the best movie Skye had ever seen. Bril iant shafts of sunlight lit up budding trees with pink and white blossoms, squirrels chattered, and birds chirped.

It was so peaceful that words would have ruined the magical moment. The clip-clop of the horses’

hooves on the dirt road, the jingle-jangling of the bit shanks, and the squeaking of the leather saddles said it al . Skye hated to admit it to herself, but she was having the time of her life.

Final y, Mrs. Chambers spoke. “You know, I’ve never gotten over the thril of riding a horse down a path in the woods. I think it’s about as close as you can get to heaven. God made al this beauty, kiddo.” Skye cringed. She reached down and patted the horse’s neck. Champ she liked — no,
loved
. But Mrs. Chambers? Just a necessary inconvenience to get what Skye wanted.

The long trail through the woods led into a smal pasture nestled at the base of three sloping hil s.

Blossoming trees dotted a field that overflowed with tawny grasses. Skye focused on a covered wagon in the center, nestled under a clump of scrub pines. As the horses swished their legs through the tal grasses, a gentle breeze stirred, sifting the smel of pine through the meadow.

“Wow,” Skye said. “This is
so
cool.”

“Welcome to Piney Hol ow,” Mrs. Chambers said as they approached the wagon. “Let’s rest awhile.” The horses walked to a wooden railing, one of several on the side of the wagon, as if they knew just where to go. Mrs. Chambers and Skye dismounted, wound the reins around the railing, and walked to a clearing that included a circle of rocks for a campfire surrounded by wooden crates to sit on.

“I bet you’re wondering what goes on here, aren’t you?” Mrs. Chambers asked. “We use it for trail rides, camping trips for our church youth group, and special chapel services when the weather permits.”

“Chapel services?” Skye’s face contorted, weighed down with al kinds of questions.

“Look over there.” Mrs. Chambers pointed to something behind Skye.

Skye turned and focused on several rows of benches hewn from tree trunks. In front of the benches, set against the sharply rising base of a hil , was a monument of cemented stones about as tal as the wagon with a beautiful y carved stone cross projecting from the top.

“That’s our chapel. We’ve had a lot of church picnics here. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten a hot dog or marshmal ow roasted over an open fire.” Mrs. Chambers tapped on Skye’s hardhat. “Why don’t you give your head a rest and take that off?” Skye gladly took off the hat and ran her fingers through her sweat-dampened hair. She plopped down on a crate across from her new foster mother.

“Isn’t this place a sight for tired eyes?” Mrs.

Chambers said. “It amazes me how God gives us the desires of our hearts. I never knew serving him could be like this.” Mrs. Chambers paused. “Tel me about your other foster homes, Skye. Which ones did you like the most?”

“There’s nothing to tel ,” Skye said. “I hated al of them. Sometimes I felt safer at juvie hal .”

“Wel , we hope you feel safe — and loved —

here.”

“At first I thought you were trying to kil me when you put me on him,” Skye said, nodding at her horse.

“But riding Champ isn’t so bad. It’s pretty cool.”

“We’re praying you’l think living here is pretty cool too, and you’l be able to cal our place ‘home.’ We’d like nothing better,” Mrs. Chambers said as she stood. “I guess we’ve rested enough. Let’s take advantage of a perfect day. We can talk while we ride through the woods.”

Skye was glad their little chat was over. This God talk was getting on her nerves.

T
he restrictions Skye faced at the Chambers’ home offset the freedom she experienced whenever she rode Champ. And to make sure she remembered the rules, Mr. and Mrs. Chambers had reviewed them with her every evening the fi rst week she had moved in.

“Wel , Skye,” Mr. Chambers said one night as he stirred cream into his coffee, “how do you think you’re doing with al these rules we have here at Keystone Stables?”

Skye nibbled on a brownie and took a big gulp of milk.“The only difference between here and juvie is you don’t make me wear those stupid khaki uniforms. I hate those things. They make me feel like a private in boot camp.”

“Honey, we want you to understand one thing,” Mr.

Chambers said. “We have rules for one basic reason — so you’l feel safe. You might feel like you’re in a straitjacket now, but believe me, as time goes by, you’l get used to them. And after you’ve lived here a while, we won’t need some of them anymore. You’l be so used to the other ones, you’l think life has always been like this.”

“The only thing I figure is that you’re getting ready to ship me off to the Marines,” Skye complained.

“Actual y, that would be like a vacation.” Mr. Chambers chuckled and wiped his mustache with a napkin as he pushed his cup aside and reached back to the counter to retrieve a paper.

“Let’s go over this list one more time. If you want to discuss any of these, just speak up.” A barrage of barks echoed from Tip and Ty, who sat on the floor between Mr. and Mrs. Chambers’

chairs.

“Not you two,” Mrs. Chambers said. “Whenever they hear the word ‘speak,’ it sets them off like robots with new microchips.”

Skye grinned in spite of herself.

“Okay, here we go,” Mr. Chambers said.

Skye folded her arms, slid into a half slouch, and rol ed her eyes. “I can hardly wait,” she grumbled.

“Careful,” Mrs. Chambers warned.

Mr. Chambers started reading:

“Use of the playroom, including computer games, email, and TV — one hour a day under close supervision.”

Skye stared passively at a brownie crumb.

“Boom box and CDs — Christian music only.”
Gag me
, she thought.

“Phone — one ten-minute cal a day under close supervision.”

My life is
so
totally ruined.

“Chores, including the house and the barn —

washing clothes, ironing, housecleaning, cooking, gardening, and mucking stal s. But you’re not a lonely island out there by yourself,” Mr. Chambers reminded Skye. “It takes al of us to run this place. It’s just part of maintaining a home. You’l be glad when you’re older that you learned how to do these things.”
Yeah
,
I’m the luckiest girl in the world!
Skye stewed on the inside.

“Skye, you’re a beautiful young lady. It’s important to have proper personal hygiene, not only for your health, but to keep flies out of the house.” Mrs.