Chancey of the Maury River (13 page)

“Chancey, I have gone to auction twice in my life, yet I stand here before you a horse fulfilled. Both times, I endured and witnessed beatings by ignorant men. The first time, I was a yearling and had no one to protect me. Hundreds of others were lost to kill buyers in an instant. Despite their fine breeding, many finer than I, they were sold at a price measured per pound. Do you know what that means?”

I did not respond for I knew well the answer. I walked away from Mac to the other side of the hill, following the track of the storm below us. Mac followed me.

“They were eaten, Chancey. When the value of a horse is measured in his weight, Chancey, by the pound, it means he will be eaten. I was sold to a gentleman farmer, a gruff old man with a kind heart and a bad leg, for one thousand dollars flat. I survived. I am blessed and haunted by it daily. I had only a vision, placed on my heart by my mother, of a greater purpose for my life. Had I fought them at auction, I would not be here. Had I given myself over to them completely at auction, I would not be here. Acceptance is not the same as giving up. You seem to be giving up.”

“But I am old. At auction, I would surely be sold for meat.” I quivered at having finally named that which frightened me the most. Mac lost his patience with me. He reared up slightly.

“You must lead Claire and her mother to a new vision, Chancey. What is it that you want? Jumping is but one way to be a girl’s horse. Has the father the final say in this matter? At the show, what did Claire’s mother say about all of this?”

I thought back to Tamworth Springs. Mother was so quiet and lost in Claire’s injury that I had lost her in my own recollection of the day. Claire’s unconsciousness and her father’s condemnation of me as a dangerous horse had overshadowed Mother, who in her grief, I now recalled, had spoken to me as the judge led me out. I tried to remember.

“Yes,” I finally told Mac. “Mother did speak to me. She told me something very important. She whispered to me, ‘You belong with us; don’t ever forget that.’” Mac whinnied at me. “And I seem to have forgotten right away.”

“Take heart, Chancey. Your work here is not completed. Only now are you ready to begin.”

I stood with Mac in the gelding field that night and did not sleep at all. Claire did not come the next day, or the next, or the next, for her recovery took some time. While I waited, I forced myself to return to Mother’s words —“you belong with us”— each and every time I became anxious.

Though neither Claire nor I realized it, the calamitous jump at the Tamworth Springs show would be our last jump together for some time. While our love for each other would grow deeper and stronger, this aspect of our working — training together as a hunter team — had come to an end.

A week or more had passed, yet Claire still had not returned to the barn, nor had I any word of her condition. One afternoon, Mrs. Maiden came to me. She related to me that Claire had suffered a concussion, and though Claire was expected to make a full recovery, she would not be fully well for several more weeks. Mrs. Maiden’s voice cracked when she spoke, and thus I could tell that she had been worried, too.

Though still under her doctor’s care, Claire successfully prevailed upon Mother to bring her to the Maury River Stables just to see me. Claire insisted that the doctor’s order of no riding did not mean no visiting. Tenderhearted Mother not only allowed Claire this occasion, but she believed that a visit would hasten Claire’s recovery. This was reported directly to me by Mrs. Maiden, who not only informed me of Claire’s impending visit, but showed me a great kindness by taking the time to groom me in preparation.

I appreciated this kindness very much, not only because it helped me to feel my very best for Claire, but also because it was the first time that Mrs. Maiden had expressed a true fondness for me. Make no mistake: the care that I had received, and receive to this day, was expression enough of Mrs. Maiden’s deep love of all horses. But our grooming time, as we both waited for Claire and Mother, was Mrs. Maiden’s first real display of personal affection for me, Chancey.

Mrs. Maiden set my brush box beside my front feet; it will come as no surprise to those familiar with the habits of girls that the brush box Claire had chosen for me was also purple. Starting on my left side, Mrs. Maiden began to brush my coat, talking to me the entire time. I enjoyed the sound of her voice, not just for what she told me, but for the fact that even though I could not see her, I could feel her at my left side and so never felt surprised at any action that she took. Mrs. Maiden is a kind woman, but she does not always feel as relaxed as she did on this morning. Understandably, with her great responsibilities of providing safety and protection to children and horses, as well as a few barn mothers like Mother who ride, she is often too preoccupied to relax.

With the same warmth that she uses only for the very youngest of her pupils, Mrs. Maiden said to me, “Claire’s on her way, handsome boy. I know you’ve missed her. Claire’s mother thinks a short visit will help her feel better.”

Mrs. Maiden used a soft brush to clean my face; I closed my eyes and let the dirt fall from them to the floor. She lowered her voice and, touching my cheek, spoke again. “You know, sometimes little girls are hurt more inside than outside after a fall like Claire’s. I bet her mother’s right: a visit with you is probably just what she needs.”

Mrs. Maiden fluffed my forelock and tucked our third-place Walk-Trot ribbon into my halter. Standing there in my room with the late afternoon sun streaming in the window and resting on my crest, I gave thanks for Claire’s health and the many days we would have together.

Claire appeared at the door to my room just as Mrs. Maiden finished up. “You’re gorgeous, Chancey! Did you get dressed up just for me?” Claire asked me.

Before I could manage any kind of an answer, Mrs. Maiden blurted, “Claire! You sure didn’t get dressed up for Chancey. You’re in your pajamas!”

Claire seemed not to hear Mrs. Maiden, for she did not answer her but threw her arms around me. “Oh, Chancey. I missed you so much. I don’t even remember what happened the entire day. Mother said we got third place in the Walk-Trot class.”

Noticing the ribbon, Claire observed, “The yellow ribbon looks pretty on you.” She took the ribbon in her hands and confided in me, “I don’t remember anything about the show. I only know I fell because Mother says so. I’m sure it was all my fault. Don’t worry, boy, we’ll be riding again soon. Mother and the doctor won’t let me jump for a while. But we’ll be together soon, I promise.”

Daisy was right; Claire harbored no blame or resentment about the accident. Had my Creator given me tears to cry, I would have shed them all at that moment, so relieved was I that Claire did not intend to give up on us. Mother, I was also relieved to observe, seemed to share happiness at our reunion.

I listened closely to Claire’s voice, as she told me how we would win our next show. She continued planning and dreaming of how high we would be jumping by the end of the year. I listened, but did not allow myself to dream with her. Claire rested her head on my shoulder and told me, “Chancey, you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a pony. Thank you for trying so hard, and for always being here for me.”

Mother interrupted Claire’s dreamy plans. “Claire, when you do return to jumping, we can’t ask Chancey to jump with you again.” Claire stopped breathing.

“Wh-what? But he’s my pony. I don’t want to ride anybody else, just Chancey.” I moved closer to Claire, for I felt this same wave of sickness myself.

“I know, sweetheart. We have to honor Chancey and recognize his strengths and talents. It hurts him to jump. He tries so hard because he loves you so much, but it’s not easy for him. To ask Chancey to jump higher and higher because you want to jump higher and higher is very unfair and very unkind. And one day, it could be very dangerous for both of you.”

“Oh.” Claire leaned into me. She rested her head on my shoulder and smelled me. “Oh.” Claire nuzzled her face in my coat.

She began to cry. “D-D-D-D-Dad said we’re selling him. I’ll run, run, run away if we sell Ch-Chancey.”

Claire clung to me and cried, hiding herself in my neck. “Please, Mother. Let me keep him. We don’t have to j-jump. I love him so much. We can trail ride. I can practice my dressage. I can take him on a hunter pace. Please, he can do so many things.”

Mother wiped Claire’s face. “Claire, we will never sell Chancey. He is our family.”

Claire laughed out loud and began crying again. I pressed my head close to my girl’s heart and at the same time, flicked Mother with my tail.

Mrs. Maiden laughed, too. “Chancey is an amazing horse, Claire. He’s just not a jumper, that’s all. But he has so many other talents. When you’re all better, you and I will find the perfect job for Chancey. In the meantime, let me take care of him and let your mother take care of you. Is that a deal?”

Claire hugged Mrs. Maiden, then Mother. “Deal.” She nodded.

“Claire,” Mrs. Maiden said, “let’s turn Chancey out for the night. Would you like to lead him?”

Claire nodded furiously. “Could I?”

Then, as if it had almost slipped her mind, Claire asked permission to do something quite different. “Mrs. Maiden, I brought my violin to play Chancey a song. I’ve been practicing. Will that be okay?”

“What a nice idea, Claire — horses love music. In fact, why don’t you go on and take him out to the gelding field and play there so Chancey and all of his friends can enjoy it?” Mrs. Maiden smiled.

Claire led me out to the field, with Mother following behind us. I noticed then that Mother held in her hands a black bag of sorts. As the three of us approached the gate, Dante, Napoleon, and Mac crowded the fence to greet Claire. Daisy, Princess, and Gwen all cantered along our adjoining fence line to greet her. I was not the only one who had missed Claire.

Dressed in her pajamas, Claire looked very much smaller than I had remembered. As is often the case after a storm, the entrance to our field was a mud pit, made worse by Dante’s incessant pacing back and forth, guarding the gate, presumably against some unseen enemy. Claire and Mother seemed oblivious to the condition of the field and to their own ill-suited attire.

I stuck close to Claire as she unbuckled my halter. Mother opened the black bag and handed Claire what I presumed was the violin. I remembered how Claire had told me of her music when we first met. I nickered for Claire to show me the instrument.

Sensing my curiosity, Claire held the violin out to my right eye for inspection, for Claire was well aware not only of my blindness in the left but also of the narrow blind spot directly in front of my nose. Then she lifted the violin to her chin and with a stick of sorts began drawing out a low, sweet sound. I moved in closer to Claire’s playing arm. She paused and encouraged me to thoroughly examine the stick.

“Chancey, this is called a bow,” she instructed me.

With the ability to draw such rich notes from a hollow, wooden box, I should not have been surprised to find, as I was, that the stick, or bow as Claire called it, was strung end to end with strands of horse tail. I blew onto it.

“You’re such a smart pony, Chancey. Of course, you’re right. The bow is made from horsehair. So you see how horses and people make music together?” I nickered at Claire, encouraging her to continue playing.

My girl closed her eyes and brought the violin to her chin once more. I found that the notes appealed not only to me but, as Mrs. Maiden had predicted, to all of the geldings. All of us encircled Claire and Mother, getting as close as possible so that we could hear and see the fine gift Claire brought us.

I noticed that almost directly behind me, even the mares had lined the fence separating our two fields. They had stopped gossiping and gathered around to listen. I turned my head slightly toward the mares, to encourage them to come even closer, yet remain quiet. I am always amazed, and grateful, at the connection Claire and I have and credit the depth of this connection entirely to Claire’s open heart and keen skills at observation. She saw, or felt, me indicate direction to the mares and ever accommodating and while continuing to play, Claire walked closer to the mares’ fence so they, too, could share in the sweetness.

The geldings and I moved with Claire, as she now played to nearly twenty horses. We remained quiet, hoping that our stillness might consent Claire to play on. She played for us, without interruption, through many songs, occasionally asking Mother’s advice as to which tune should be played next. Finally, Mother indicated to Claire that the time had come to leave.

Claire is as gifted in the art of managing Mother as she is in riding or playing music. She pleaded, “One more song, okay? What should I play?”

Mother indulged her without any sign of irritation or impatience. “Okay, one more song, Claire. Play ‘Ode to Joy’; you’ve been working hard on it.”

Again, Claire closed her eyes and poised her elbow in the air while she took in a deep breath. The cedar and river birch, all of us in the field, reached out to the sun, now falling behind the blue mountains. As Claire’s bow pulled across the strings, the sun made one last rally, splashing our field with its easy afternoon light. I leaned in closer to Claire, grateful that she had not been irreparably harmed by the accident, and grateful that she was standing here with me. The storm had indeed passed; I wished for this song never to end.