The Amish Blacksmith (30 page)

I wanted to give Priscilla enough time here, but as the sun sank lower in the sky, I began to wonder if we were lingering a bit too long. Visiting the grave of a loved one could be a good thing, a healthy way to find closure and be reminded of faith and our belief in eternity. But it could be a bad thing as well, an opportunity to wallow in sorrow and grief, nursing the ache of loss.

After waiting as long as I thought I should, I finally strode with quiet purpose to where Priscilla knelt, coming to a stop behind her. Looking down, I read the two stones, each of which held exactly four lines of information: name, date of birth, date of death, and age at death. I was aware of the fancy-type headstones that
Englischers
often used, but our cemeteries were always like this. Identical stones, identical listings, and nothing else. It was our final act of humility and community, to be buried in such a way that no headstone was ever more elaborate than any other.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded without looking up. “We can go,” she said, but she made no move to rise to her feet. Instead, she reached toward the stone bearing her mother's name and touched her fingers to the etched words there, almost as though she were laying her hand on her
mamm'
s fevered brow. Then she got to her feet and, without turning to me, began to walk back to the buggy.

It wasn't until we were pulling out onto the road that she spoke again.

“
Danke
, Jake. I know you had a lot to do today. It was kind of you to bring me here.”

“You're welcome. Did you find what you were looking for?”

She hesitated a moment, causing me to glance over at her. She was staring out at the passing fields of green all around us. “I guess you could say that.” When she looked back at me, I could tell she had indeed found some sort of answer at her mother's grave, but I had no idea what it was.

T
WENTY

T
here was still about an hour of sunlight left when we got home, so I unloaded the pile of goodies the Fishers had given me, stopped at the main house to give Roseanna first pickings, and then headed to my cottage to put away the rest. I moved quickly, eager to get in some time with January before dark.

I worked with her again the next morning, making some headway but not nearly as quickly as I had with Patch. There was something different about January's case, though I hadn't yet figured out what it was.

On Wednesday afternoon, right after the shop closed for the day, I headed over to the back paddock where January and Willow had been sunning themselves since lunch. Rainstorms were in the forecast for early evening, so I needed to take advantage of the time I had until then. The paddock, which was really just an elongated oval, was bigger than the round pen near the barn that I usually used. My intention was to work with January there, watching her, walking the oval with her, and bonding.

Once I rounded Mahlon and Beth's house and the back paddock came fully into view, I saw that Priscilla was standing just outside the oval, her arms bent at the elbows as she rested them on the rail. Voyager was at the water trough drinking, Willow was standing nonchalantly in the center, and January, a few feet from Priscilla, watched her from the corner of her eye.

January was the first to sense my movement. The horse raised her head, looked at me, and then turned away. As I came closer, Voyager noticed me as well, but only Willow came over to greet me when I reached the fence.

Priscilla and I hadn't interacted at all since our time at the cemetery, mostly because she'd seemed in a bit of a funk since then. I was figuring out that was her way, to draw up inside of herself when faced with difficult situations, but it bothered me to see her dark and distracted frame of mind drag on like this.

I nodded her way as I let myself in through the gate, but she barely acknowledged me in return, so I decided to leave her alone for now. Turning my attention to Willow, I gave her a good scratch under her jaw. Just to be polite, I would have done the same with Voyager as well, but I didn't dare bring on the disapproval of his owner. Instead, I continued on past him to January, who seemed skittish at my approach, but at least she let me close enough to grasp her halter and hook on the lead rope.

I began our session by spending several minutes there at her side, gently working my hands across the planes of her sleek body, from the front of her muzzle to the back of her cannon. As I did, I kept my breathing even and deep, my demeanor calm and relaxed but in charge. January seemed to respond somewhat positively, especially once I moved to her other side and repeated my actions again.

By the time I was finished and ready to take her for a walk around the ring, I glanced toward the fence line and was surprised to see Priscilla still standing there. What was she doing? Did she intend to stay the whole time?

Then again, I realized, it wasn't exactly as if she were watching me. She was more just sort of staring off into the distance, her eyes empty and unfocused. Sad.

With a tug of the lead and a click of my tongue, I started around the ring with January, allowing the rope to loosen in my grip as she began moving along steadily at my side. I was glad to see that for the first time all week, the horse never once paused or jerked or showed other such blatant signs of fear. I could tell by her eyes and tail that she was still on alert, attentive to her surroundings, and scanning for any and all possible threats, but at least at this point she seemed to trust that I would deliver her safely around the ring.

After our second loop, it struck me that it might be helpful to see her from a slightly more removed perspective. Priscilla was still over at the fence, though no longer gazing off into the distance. Instead, Voyager was there
with her, and she was doing that thing she did with her head, leaning in close to his. I hated to interrupt their little moment, but I decided to request her assistance. Not only would it help me in my work with January, but my hope was that it might help Priscilla too, by pulling her out of this incessant fog.

She didn't seem to mind when I asked, and soon we had traded places, with her slowly walking January around the elongated oval track and me sitting on the fence, observing. She led the horse with less authority than I would have liked—pace uneven, path less exact—but at least it allowed me to observe the horse from afar. I focused in on January, looking for signs of anxiety or mistrust—from the way she held her eyes, nose, and jaw to the tension in her shoulders and hips to the posture of her tail. By the time they had made it three-quarters of the way around the ring, I was pleased to see that my efforts with the warmblood this week had netted at least some results. Her problem wasn't solved yet by any means, but at least her progress was sufficient enough that I felt we could move on to the next step.

When Priscilla drew closer, I took back the lead rope from her and thanked her for her help. I assumed that at that point she would call to her own horse and they would leave, but instead she surprised me by returning to the fence and leaning against it again, clearly intending to stay and watch some more.

“I'm not sure if you want Voyager in here for this part,” I told her as I led January out to the center of the pen. “I'm going to do some pressure-release exercises with her, and they may spook him.”

Priscilla stared at me for a long moment, her mouth growing tight, her eyes narrowing. “Voyager is free to run to the other end of the paddock to get away from you if he needs to.”

Whatever that was about, I pretended not to notice the attitude. Instead, I just tuned her out entirely and got to work.

I started by pulling from my pocket a plastic grocery store bag I'd brought for just this purpose. Turning toward January, I kept my hold on the lead rope with one hand while I held up the bag with the other and began squeezing and shaking it to make it crinkle.

The skittish animal didn't like that one bit, but I kept at it just as I had with the big rubber ball the other morning, moving patiently through the process of challenge, wait, and reward. This we did over and over until she finally began to accept the fact that she could trust me to protect her despite this crinkly thing between us.

Finally ready to up the ante, I gave her an extra carrot for good measure, retrieved my training stick, and hooked the plastic bag onto the end of it. Holding out the stick in front of her, I gave it a few shakes as the wind caught the bag and made it rustle even more.

January reacted by jerking herself backward and letting out a whinny, just as I'd expected her to. In response, I simply pulled back the bag a bit and waited, murmuring to her calmly until she settled down. Once she was finally calmer, I rewarded her with a carrot.

I was about to repeat the same cycle again when Priscilla called out to me.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Startled, I whipped my head around to see her leaning forward over the fence, her hands flat on the rail and her eyes narrowed in displeasure.

“Excuse me?”

“What do you think you're doing?”

Glancing to my right, I saw that Voyager was now down at the other end of the long pen, hovering near the placid Willow. I looked again to Priscilla and let out a sigh.

“I told you to get him out of here.”

“I'm not talking about Voyager. What are you doing to January? Why are you treating her this way?”

For a long moment I stood there gaping at her, wondering what on earth she was so worked up about. Did she not understand the first thing about how to gentle a horse? More importantly, did she not get that I was busy right now and we could talk about this later?

I didn't feel like launching into a lesson on technique, but by the set of Priscilla's jaw I could see she wasn't going to let this drop. So I gave her the short version, hoping that would be enough to shut her up and let me get back to my job.

“My goal is to help January move past her fear,” I said evenly, trying to sound informative rather than defensive. “I'm trying to teach her blind trust.”

“Blind trust?” Priscilla laughed, but not in happy way. Definitely not in a happy way. “What is that?”

Good grief. “That's having trust in her owner in the moment, regardless of whatever dangers may be present. She needs to be able to move past the thing that is bothering her and respond by blindly trusting the humans who care for her. Okay?”

To my surprise, Priscilla's anger began to fade into something more like disappointment.

“No, that's not okay,” she said in a more subdued voice. “That's not okay at all.”

I took in a deep breath and said a quick prayer for wisdom. Debating with Priscilla wasn't my favorite activity, but at least I could deal with it elsewhere. Right now, I hadn't the time or the attention or the energy to get into this with her.

Still, I told myself as I reached out a hand to give January a pat, Priscilla clearly wasn't going to leave me alone until she had her say.

“Fine,” I said to no one. I dropped the lead rope and the stick, and walked over to the fence. I came to a stop directly in front of Priscilla. “What is it you want to tell me?”

“What you're doing—” she began, and then she stopped midthought. “Horses aren't mindless machines, Jake. They should never be scared into submission. They need—”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” I said, holding out a hand to stop her right there. “
Scared
into
submission
? Mindless machines? You think I'm mistreating this horse? Breaking her will until she has no choice but to obey?” My voice began to grow louder, but I didn't care. “I'm not scaring her into submission, Priscilla. I am teaching her that she can trust me. I am teaching her to react not to some frightening stimuli but instead to the protection of my presence. I'm not scaring this animal for the sake of oppression. I'm using tools like that plastic bag to teach her that she's safe with me no matter what.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. She needs to know her handler can be trusted, even if there's a bag coming at her. Even if there's a big red rubber ball beside her. Even if someday she's on a trail and runs into a snake, or in her stall and hears a loud noise, or near a crowd and a child comes running at her. The ultimate lesson this horse needs to learn is that no matter how she is being threatened, the person who's there with her can be trusted to protect her.”