Boy on a Black Horse (15 page)

“Don't blame yourself,” Chav said. “It wasn't your fault. Crap happens.”

“It sure does.”

“You're going to get over it.”

“Yes.” I knew I had to.

“You still just dive in anyway,” Chav said. “That's good.”

I stared at him, because I knew I was still scared of water—another thing I had to get over—and he knew it too, so what was he saying? There was a strange light-in-the-sky look on his face. His hand floated up off my shoulder, lifting like a wing.

“You take risks,” he said slowly. “You haven't let it—you won't stop loving. I think—it's better to—to love people, even if you get hurt.”

It seemed kind of obvious to me, but it must have been important and new to him. His eyes had gone wide and shining, like he had seen God.

“You—you remember them,” he said. “You had them while they were alive.”

“Yes.”

“I remember my mother. I—it's not such a bad deal.”

“Yes. But, Chav, sometimes I feel—you know.” Mad, sad, bad, the whole can of worms.

He did know. “You tell me when you're feeling that way, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. I'll tell you if I feel awful.” There had been times I couldn't tell Liana, she was hurting so much herself, but I could tell Chav, because he was strong.

Chav looked at me awhile longer, like he was trying to think of what else to say. But Angel was getting really restless, prancing under him, and that was okay. He asked me, “Do you want to canter?”

Actually, I did. All of a sudden I felt really good, light in the saddle, like I could ride forever. We cantered back up the meadow, and I dropped the reins and spread my arms, feeling the wind in my heart as well as my face. Chav looked at me and grinned and didn't say a word. He understood.

When we reached the top we slowed to a walk. Angel was way too skittish to take across the railroad bridge. We turned the other way, toward home.

“What are you going to do when you're out of school?” Chav asked me.

“I don't know yet.” He should talk! This was the kid who barely believed in tomorrow. “Are you going out to the Spanish Dancer Ranch someday? See Rom again?”

“Maybe.” A pause. “I'd like that.” Another pause. “You know what else I'd like? Don't laugh.”

“I won't. What?”

“I'd like to have my own place someday, you know, a farm, with all kinds of animals on it. Horses, ponies, donkeys, dogs, cats, bats, rats, wombats—”

Now he was trying to make me laugh. “Kangaroos,” I suggested. “Gerbils.” I had noticed there was no lack of gerbils lately.

“Yeah, gerbils, for sure. Hamsters. Hogs. Guinea pigs.” For some reason he was smiling, a real smile that went clear to his eyes—they were starry bright. “Not just black animals,” he said. “All colors.”

I looked at him. “Black's nice,” I said.

“I miss Rom,” he said, “but Angel's going to be just as good someday.” There was a wide-open clover field ahead of us. Chav tossed his forelock back from his eyes, ready for a gallop. “Hey hey, Gray! Let's go!” He sent Angel diving into the sunshine.

About the Author

Nancy Springer has passed the fifty-book milestone with novels for adults, young adults, and children, in genres including mythic fantasy, contemporary fiction, magic realism, horror, and mystery—although she did not realize she wrote mystery until she won the Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America two years in succession. Born in Montclair, New Jersey, Springer moved with her family to Gettysburg, of Civil War fame, when she was thirteen. She spent the next forty-six years in Pennsylvania, raising two children (Jonathan and Nora), writing, horseback riding, fishing, and bird-watching. In 2007 she surprised her friends and herself by moving with her second husband to an isolated area of the Florida Panhandle where the bird-watching is spectacular, and where, when fishing, she occasionally catches an alligator.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1994 by Nancy Springer

Cover design by Drew Padrutt

ISBN: 978-1-4976-8870-4

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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