Whether a trainer weighed three hundred pounds or one hundred, he or she was no match for the power and strength of a horse. It was patience, knowledge, and agility that made the difference.
Hmm. Was that true? Patience wasn’t an issue, and she was trying to gain knowledge as quickly as possible. But how agile was she? Her racing heart said she needed years of experience to enter a pen with a wild animal. The dance between man and horse continued for half an hour while she watched them and read more of thehorse-training book. Finally its charges toward Andy weren’t as fierce, and its retreats weren’t lightning fast. His approach made sense. Apparently his first goal was to calm the horses, probably followed by getting the animals comfortable with his touch. They certainly couldn’t bathe a horse that was completely terrified of touch. But since Andy was a trainer, she’d hoped he had some magic trick to calming and bathing them that wasn’t listed in the book. His way was not magic. It was terrifying.
He’d singled out four horses. Could she make herself get in the center of one pen and let a horse stampede toward her in order to win its trust? Unlike the horse Andy was working with, a much smaller, white filly was in one of the pens. Determined to be of help, she squeezed the old book into her hidden pocket, went to the barn to get rope and a helmet, and returned. She put the helmet on over her prayer
Kapp
and wiggled her bun to a lower position so she could fasten the helmet in place.
Drawing a deep breath, she opened the gate where the filly was.
Andy gave two short, rather-soft whistles. The filly picked up its frantic pacing. Jolene turned to see why Andy was whistling, and he shook his head at her and pointed for her to move away from the fence. Andy’s horse raised its head and stomped its hoofs, seemingly protesting Andy’s whistle. What would the horse have done had he yelled?
Did Andy think he could treat her like a child? Ignoring him, she eased into the ring and was thankful the filly ran the other way. Jolene closed the gate, her fingers trembling against the warm metal as she secured the latch.
10
The blue digital numbers on Mrs. Coldwell’s stainless steel stove said it was 12:16. Teena had provided plenty of drinks along with trays of crackers, cheese, vegetables, and dip on the patio a couple of hours ago, so Ray wasn’t hungry. Not for food anyway. But as the morning hours drained into the afternoon, he longed to talk to someone his age who didn’t confuse him or make fun of him, someone who cared but wasn’t obligated to, like Jolene and Josiah were.
Until today he had thought Teena might be mad about what he did after she was hit by the car. Thought she might resent him for breathing air into her lungs and telling the police how to reach her parents. He’d never considered she might be grateful for his help.
He often felt stupid, but maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he felt. That was a thought he’d like to hold on to for more than a few fleeting moments.
“Pizza.” Teena walked into the construction zone, held up five boxes, and retreated outside.
Josiah removed his tool belt, and they went into the workers’ assigned bathroom. “I don’t know about you, but I think this is bound to be better than another sack lunch.”
It did sound good. “We don’t eat sack lunches.”
Josiah shrugged and washed his hands.
Ray stepped up to the sink next. “We do eat sack lunches, don’t we? We just happen to carry them in a lunch pail.”
“Exactly.” Josiah finished drying his hands and passed the towel to Ray.
“Josiah,”—Ray kept running the towel over his hands even though they were already dry—“do you ever want to talk to somebody at the same time you want to avoid them?”
“Ya. In all sorts of situations. When I first met Ruth, I wanted to spend every minute with her, but I was so nervous I dreaded it as much as I looked forward to it. Then there are times when
Hmm. Was that true? Patience wasn’t an issue, and she was trying to gain knowledge as quickly as possible. But how agile was she? Her racing heart said she needed years of experience to enter a pen with a wild animal. The dance between man and horse continued for half an hour while she watched them and read more of thehorse-training book. Finally its charges toward Andy weren’t as fierce, and its retreats weren’t lightning fast. His approach made sense. Apparently his first goal was to calm the horses, probably followed by getting the animals comfortable with his touch. They certainly couldn’t bathe a horse that was completely terrified of touch. But since Andy was a trainer, she’d hoped he had some magic trick to calming and bathing them that wasn’t listed in the book. His way was not magic. It was terrifying.
He’d singled out four horses. Could she make herself get in the center of one pen and let a horse stampede toward her in order to win its trust? Unlike the horse Andy was working with, a much smaller, white filly was in one of the pens. Determined to be of help, she squeezed the old book into her hidden pocket, went to the barn to get rope and a helmet, and returned. She put the helmet on over her prayer
Kapp
and wiggled her bun to a lower position so she could fasten the helmet in place.
Drawing a deep breath, she opened the gate where the filly was.
Andy gave two short, rather-soft whistles. The filly picked up its frantic pacing. Jolene turned to see why Andy was whistling, and he shook his head at her and pointed for her to move away from the fence. Andy’s horse raised its head and stomped its hoofs, seemingly protesting Andy’s whistle. What would the horse have done had he yelled?
Did Andy think he could treat her like a child? Ignoring him, she eased into the ring and was thankful the filly ran the other way. Jolene closed the gate, her fingers trembling against the warm metal as she secured the latch.
10
The blue digital numbers on Mrs. Coldwell’s stainless steel stove said it was 12:16. Teena had provided plenty of drinks along with trays of crackers, cheese, vegetables, and dip on the patio a couple of hours ago, so Ray wasn’t hungry. Not for food anyway. But as the morning hours drained into the afternoon, he longed to talk to someone his age who didn’t confuse him or make fun of him, someone who cared but wasn’t obligated to, like Jolene and Josiah were.
Until today he had thought Teena might be mad about what he did after she was hit by the car. Thought she might resent him for breathing air into her lungs and telling the police how to reach her parents. He’d never considered she might be grateful for his help.
He often felt stupid, but maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he felt. That was a thought he’d like to hold on to for more than a few fleeting moments.
“Pizza.” Teena walked into the construction zone, held up five boxes, and retreated outside.
Josiah removed his tool belt, and they went into the workers’ assigned bathroom. “I don’t know about you, but I think this is bound to be better than another sack lunch.”
It did sound good. “We don’t eat sack lunches.”
Josiah shrugged and washed his hands.
Ray stepped up to the sink next. “We do eat sack lunches, don’t we? We just happen to carry them in a lunch pail.”
“Exactly.” Josiah finished drying his hands and passed the towel to Ray.
“Josiah,”—Ray kept running the towel over his hands even though they were already dry—“do you ever want to talk to somebody at the same time you want to avoid them?”
“Ya. In all sorts of situations. When I first met Ruth, I wanted to spend every minute with her, but I was so nervous I dreaded it as much as I looked forward to it. Then there are times when
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