Sundancer (28 page)

AT THE KITCHEN TABLE at Saddle Creek Farm, Eva and Hannah sat chatting over coffee.

“Eva, I didn't think I could last three days when you first came to visit. Now, I wish you and Julia and Bird could stay here forever.”

Eva smiled gratefully. “You know we can't.”

“I know.” Hannah fought back an unwelcome rush of emotion. “I can't believe Bird won't be living here any more.”

“Hannah, I'll never in a million years be able to thank you.” Eva plucked a tissue from its box and gently wiped a tear from Hannah's cheek. “You took her in when I couldn't cope. I was selfish and self-absorbed, I see that now. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course I can.” Hannah was sincere. “Let's make a toast. To us. May we always accept and understand each other.”

Eva held up her cup, and Hannah clinked her cup with Eva's. “Let's drink to love, without judgement.”

Thoughtfully, Eva took a drink of coffee. She said, “Stuart and I are looking at houses. Three bedrooms, with a good-sized yard. Something cozy and manageable, but not too crowded for the girls. We were thinking that the girls and I would live there until Stuart and I get married, then he'd sell his house and move in with us.”

“Have you seen the right thing yet?”

“That depends on whether or not you want us close by.”

“I do!” Hannah spoke earnestly. “Sunny's here, so Bird needs to be close or you'll be driving her all the time. And Julia's doing so well with her lessons that soon she'll want a horse of her own. I want them — and you, Eva — to stay a big part of my life.”

Eva looked relieved and happy. She took her sister's hand. “Then we've found the right house. It's just down the road.”

“This road? Not the Stevenson house?” Eva nodded.

“It's perfect!”

The sisters embraced.

AT NINE O'CLOCK THAT same morning, Laura and Pete had just finished their breakfast at the sunny kitchen table. Laura rose to clear the dishes.

Pete put down his newspaper and looked at his wife. “Says here that Leon Parish won the international class at Spruce Meadows.”

“He's a good rider, Pete.”

“Yes, he is. Shame that Sundancer banged him up like that.” His eyes twinkled.

Laura chuckled as she rinsed the dishes.

“I'm glad things worked out for Bird.” Pete was thoughtful. “She's got some mystery to her. Some magic. The way she relates to horses. All animals, really. I'm glad she'll get to keep Sundancer after all.”

“It's the right thing,” said Laura firmly. “That horse was miserable before he came to her, and he would be miserable if he had to go.”

“I had a horse like Sundancer once.”

“I remember that horse. Piperson. He scared everyone.”

“I just couldn't figure him out. I thought he was mean. Mentally ill. Finally, I put him down for safety's sake. If Bird had been around then, she could've straightened him out.”

“You had no choice, Pete. You couldn't have sold him; someone might've gotten killed.”

Pete nodded his agreement. “A horse can suffer a fate much worse than being humanely euthanized. That old adage goes, ‘When they're in the ground, you know where they are.' They're not starving or dying of thirst. They're not freezing or being eaten alive by bugs. Or exposed to the hot sun without shelter. And they're not being abused by some so-and-so who doesn't know what else to do with a ‘bad' horse.

“You still feel bad about it, don't you Pete? Well, you shouldn't.”

“I know. I did the right thing with Piperson. I'm just saying that without Bird, that would have been Sundancer's fate as well.”

“You're right.”

Pete nodded sadly. “But so many times — so very many times — I wished he could talk to me.”

DR. PAUL DANIELS DROVE his truck down the gravel road. It was only nine in the morning and he'd already been at three barns, dealing with everything from thrush to a milk rash on a month-old foal's bottom.

He was leaning forward to call his office on his portable phone when he noticed something small and brown and furry on the road ahead. As he got closer, it moved. He pulled over to the side of the road and got out.

“Well, I'll be.” It was a brown puppy of mixed heritage, only three or four months old. His chest and feet were white, and his tail had a little white tip. His short, floppy ears shook nervously as he looked up at Paul with huge, fear-filled eyes.

“Somebody threw you out of a car, didn't they, boy?” This was not the first time he'd found an unwanted animal on a country road. Paul scooped him up carefully, and the little dog yelped with pain. He carried him to his truck and gently examined him. Broken leg. Sore ribs, maybe cracked.

Paul gave him an injection of antibiotic, and one of pain medication. He put the broken bone in place and fashioned a splint.

“There you go. Feel a bit better?” The puppy licked his face. “A dear friend of mine lost her dog not so long ago. Her name is Hannah. You won't be expected to replace Hector, but you'll make her feel better. And I'll tell you a secret. She's the woman I'm going to marry.”

He whistled cheerfully as he drove up the lane to Saddle Creek Farm.

KENNETH BRADLEY WAS ANGRY. “What kind of a lawyer are you?”

“The honest kind. You'll have to find someone else to appeal your case.”

“Are you crazy? I can make you rich, Earl. What's your problem?”

“You asked me to falsify documents. My assistant will show you out.”

Kenneth Bradley rose to his full height. “Do you have any idea of what I can do to you?”

Earl Maddox rose, too, and looked him in the eye. “Threats will not make me change my mind. You are a man who believes that laws were made for other people, Mr. Bradley, but the evidence sinks you, and no amount of money can fix that.”

Kenneth Bradley smiled the smile that always made Bird think of a shark about to bite. “I'll make sure you regret this day, Earl >Maddox. You have nothing.”

“No, you're wrong, Mr. Bradley. I have ethics.”

Kenneth Bradley stormed out of the young lawyer's office.

Earl took in a deep, cleansing breath. He looked at his watch. Nine A.M.

ELVIN WAINWRIGHT WAITED FOR the nine-fifteen bus. In a carry case on the bench beside him sat the miserable Buzz, who hated being cramped up. On the linoleum at his feet, in two huge suitcases, were the things that Elvin had chosen to bring with him. Today was Monday. His day off. Horseman's holiday. He wouldn't be missed until tomorrow.

He was heading north, where there was work at a breeding farm eighty miles from Sudbury. Obscure little farm outside an obscure little town named Fleet. No one would find him for a while. Enough time to figure out where next to go. Perhaps the Cayman Islands. Or Dubai.

Outside, a policeman strolled past the window of the terminal. Elvin pulled his fedora over his eyes.

ABBY MALONE LOOKED OUT of the airplane window. It was nine o'clock, and she was high above the clouds. She wondered about the theatre school she was about to enter. It was expensive. And living in New York would be, too. She'd worked hard and had saved every penny for two years.

But this was her dream. Ever since her debut in the Stonewick Playhouse's production of
Pinocchio
, Abby had wanted to give the magical, mysterious world of theatre a try. Her skin tingled as she remembered the dressing room below the stage with its lingering smells of greasepaint and old costumes and sweat. And her ghostly friend, Ambrose Brown.

Only one thing had worried her as she'd planned for this adventure. Cody. The little coyote doted on Abby. What would happen to him if she left? Luckily, the problem had solved itself. As Abby readied herself for her move, Cody began to spend more and more time with Bird. That girl was the only other human that Cody was comfortable with.

Abby smiled as she watched the cloud formations move and swirl before her eyes.

ALONE IN THE PADDOCK, the sleek chestnut gelding grazed. Sundancer methodically trimmed the blades of grass close to the ground, left to right, right to left, as far as his neck could reach in each direction. He then took a step and began again. Row after row. Step after step.

Suddenly, he lifted his head.
Bird girl
. The one he trusted. The one who, very soon, would ride him to greater glory than he could imagine. His eyes clouded with concentration, and his delicately pointed ears twitched.

Bird girl. Are you all right?

Bird looked at the back of Kimby's head, and glanced at the dark, curly-headed boy sitting two rows over. She smiled.

She pictured Sundancer in his lush pasture: stately, handsome, and content.

Yes, Sunny. I'm all right.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The horse in this story is based on a real horse.

My Sundancer was a mystery that I could not solve. In these pages, I use Pete Pierson's voice to explain the agonizing conclusion that caring horse people might come to when a horse is dangerous to humans, and all avenues to reform him have been intelligently exhausted.

Over the course of his troubled life, Sundancer was sent to many hard-working, conscientious, professional trainers. Nine, to be exact. Putting their egos aside, each one came to the same conclusion: He could not be trained.

In desperation, one of these trainers asked me to telephone Indian Fred for advice. He was a very old man (who's since died) who lived in the mountains of California and was reputed to have an uncanny knack for speaking directly to horses. I confess that I thought it odd, but I called. I had nothing to lose. The results of that call appear throughout the book. They are the words — Sundancer's words — that start each chapter.

Often, during those long, frustrating years when I tried and tried again to figure Sundancer out, I fantasized about being able to talk to him. To listen to his fears. To understand why he did the things he did. Of course I couldn't, and thus this story.