The Amish Blacksmith (26 page)

“No. I'm saying the opposite, that I don't owe you an explanation.”

Was she nuts? “That's what
I
just said.
You don't have to explain.
”

“Which means, essentially, that I
should
but that I don't
have to
. There's a difference, Jake.”

I simply stared at her. I'd never met a person who could complicate a matter as quickly as she could. Being around her was mentally exhausting.

“You know what? Never mind.” I started to walk away.

She was quiet for a moment but then called after me. When I heard my name, I stopped but kept my back to her, the sound of footsteps crunching in gravel as she ran forward.

“I'm sorry,” she said, coming to a stop behind me and lowering her voice as she continued. “I do owe you something. My thanks. I just…I want to thank you for helping me out this morning. For…for taking Voyager back to his stall. I'm grateful. Really, I am.”

I could hear a tenderness just under the surface of her resolve to be stoic—a desire to be understood and to have my friendship without conditions. Turning toward her, I could almost see this softer side shimmering there. It suddenly occurred to me that few people had done for Priscilla what I had this morning. I had helped her—truly helped her—without a word, because I had known instinctively what she needed. And now she felt I was retreating back to the place most people took when they were around her because she was so hard to get close to—the place of not trying hard enough to understand her, the place of wanting information from her.

Explain yourself, Priscilla,
is what she heard from everyone, even though none said it exactly that way.
We don't get you at all.

“I want to be your friend,” I said, as gently as I could. “But I'm not perfect. I honestly didn't mean to suggest I was owed an explanation for what I saw this morning. But as a friend I will say that it's time to decide whether you want to live like this the rest of your life.”

“Like what?”

I sighed heavily, realizing there was just no getting around my suspicions, that she
had
heard her mother that day but had simply chosen not to respond. Though I didn't put it in those words, I blurted out more than I'd intended to say. “You don't trust anybody with the truth. You don't even trust yourself with it.”

Her mouth dropped open, but she said nothing.

“Here's the truth as I see it,” I went on, knowing I had no choice but to continue. “You don't want to face what really happened six years ago, and you don't think you deserve to be happy. You hang on to the events of the past—which I'm sure are just a little bit different than what everyone else believes them to be—and you've guilted yourself into thinking you're not worthy of a life with any kind of happiness in it.”

She stared at me.

“Tell me I'm wrong,” I challenged, softly, and with as kind a tone as I could muster.

She was still staring at me, wide eyed, when a truck and horse trailer pulled off the road onto the gravel driveway.

January was here.

Priscilla brushed past me and started for the house, the question between us unanswered.

S
EVENTEEN

N
atasha stepped out of the driver's side of the same truck that had brought me to her stables two days before. In the cab was a pair of little girls. After they climbed out, she introduced them as Hope and Samantha.

“Samantha's eight and Hope is six,” Natasha said, looking down at her golden-haired daughters. They had surely seen plenty of Amish men before, living as close as they did to Lancaster County, but I had the impression that they had perhaps not had the opportunity to meet and talk with one up close before. They stared at me with smiling eyes and shy grins. I had asked Stephen to help me once they got here, so as he emerged from the barn, I waved him over and introduced him to them as well.

“Stephen is ten,” I added with a nod.

They both gave him shy smiles in return, but then his dog, Comet, an eight-month-old Labrador mix, appeared too. The girls instantly left us and gravitated to the dog, who began to furiously wag his tail.

“Don't let him jump on them,” I cautioned.

“I won't,” Stephen replied, seeming offended that I'd even said it.

“Mommy, look how cute!” Samantha cried.

Both girls oohed and aahed at the excited pup as Natasha turned back to me. “I admit I was starting to have second thoughts about bringing January
here. I hope this is a good idea, you know, putting her in a strange place when she's already so anxious.”

I could tell she wanted me to set her mind to rest, but I knew I couldn't guarantee anything.

“I hope it's a good idea too.”

Thankfully, Natasha got my sense of humor and gave a laugh.

“Seriously, though,” I continued, “if I can convince January that she's safe with me and can let down her guard, she'll allow her pent-up tension to release and then she can move past it. I really do think this stay will help far more than it could ever hurt.”

Natasha exhaled heavily. “Well, I guess it's worth a try, right? Nothing else has been effective.”

One of the girls squealed in delight as Comet licked her face.

“Mommy!” Samantha called out. “We want a dog like this one! Please?”

“Please?” chimed in Hope, the two sisters jumping up and down as if that might help convince their mother.

“Girls. Quiet. Come on. I'm too busy with the horses. I don't have time for a dog too.”

They tried to object, promising to care for it entirely themselves, but she cut them off with a soft but firm, “That's enough. Case closed.”

The two little blondes looked like a pair of deflated balloons. But then Stephen asked if they would like to see his dog do a trick, and they were happy and giggly again.

“Stephen, why don't you and Comet take the girls over by the house a ways while we get the mare unloaded from the trailer?” I said. I didn't think all this extra noise would be helpful.

He nodded, whistled for his dog, and then the three of them plus the bounding Lab headed for the lawn in front of the house, away from the trailer and perhaps an agitated horse.

“Shall we get her out?” I asked.

“Sure.”

Natasha and I walked to the back of the trailer, a glistening, white contraption with the stable's logo painted on both sides.

“We'll just take it slow and easy,” I said.

“Sounds good to me.”

Natasha lifted the pin on the latch of the trailer door and raised the lever.
She swung the door open slowly. January was parallel to the trailer entrance, but with the chest-high triangle-shaped gate in place, all I could see of her was her back end. She grumbled, moving in place. I could see the muscles on her flank tightening.

“Want me to unlatch the gate or unload?” I asked.

“I think I got her,” Natasha said as she stepped in with a lead rope in her hand.

“You sure?”

“She went in okay. Sort of.” Natasha bent over and maneuvered herself under the triangle-gate. I heard her speaking in gentle tones to her horse as I stepped inside as well.

“You all set?” I said, with my hand on the latch.

“We're ready.”

I lifted the latch and slowly fanned the gate to the side. January swiveled her head wide eyed and yanked on her lead.

“Whoa. There's my good girl,” Natasha said softly, but January wasn't interested in tender words. She yanked her head again and took a step backward. Her rear end touched the trailer's side.

“Get her out,” I said, jumping away myself.

Natasha swung the lead to the right and moved out of the way as January quickly jerked herself toward the open door. The horse took the step down too fast and hit the ground with a clatter that set her off. She reared up and the lead came loose from Natasha's outstretched hand. I dashed forward to grab it, along with the nose ring on January's halter.

“Whoa. It's all right, girl,” I said gently. “Nothing to worry about. You're fine. You're fine.”

I let January walk a couple circles in the gravel as she tossed her head and grunted her disapproval at how her afternoon had turned out. Natasha stood watching, doing shoulder circles with her right arm.

“Are you okay?”

“It's not the first time I've had a horse try to pull my arm out of its socket. I'll be fine.”

For the next few minutes I just let January walk and stop when she wanted. Several times she seemed as if she might bolt, but then she'd look at me almost as if she needed instructions on what she should do instead. From the lawn, I could see that Stephen, the girls, and even the dog were watching
January. Just as I was about to turn the animal and attempt a slow walk to the barn, I caught a glimpse of Priscilla in an upstairs bedroom window. She backed away a step as soon as our eyes met but did not leave.

She was watching too.

I took a few steps toward the barn. January took only one and then stopped.

“How about if you walk in front of us,” I said to Natasha.

Natasha did as I suggested and clicked to her horse. “Come on, girl.”

Again I took a few steps toward the barn, but January took only one and stopped.

“Got anything from home with you?” I asked Natasha. “Something that smells like her own stable?”

“Just some tack supplies and her feed.”

I thought for a moment. “Maybe a horse blanket?”

She frowned. “I didn't think to bring one. That was dumb.”

“How about the girls? Would seeing them make her think she's at home?”

Natasha cocked her head. “I don't know. Maybe. The girls aren't in the barn all that often.”

“We could try it.”

“All right.” Natasha turned to the girls on the lawn. “How about it, girls? Can you come show January how easy and fun it is to walk into the barn? Stay at a distance, though. She's nervous and that makes her unpredictable.”

The girls sprang to their feet and Stephen joined them. Soon all three kids and the puppy were standing at the entrance to the barn. They were close enough for January to see them but not so close that she could hurt them.

Samantha clicked like her mother had. “Come on, January! Come on!” She clicked again.

And then to our surprise, January moved forward without a trace of dread.

“She's coming!” the girls squealed.

They dashed inside, with Stephen and the dog following.

“Get all the way to the back there and stand by the gate to the empty stall,
ya
?” I said. The kids dutifully obeyed. January willingly walked the rest of the way, the children easing backward as directed. We drew closer, her gaze roving between the girls and where I was leading her. I got her inside the stall, complimenting her the whole time, telling her what an amazing horse she was.

I backed out and closed the door.

“Let's let her get used to the feel and smell of the place.” I said as I latched the door. The five of us stood and watched her.

“I've never seen a horse with an imagination like this one,” Natasha said as she leaned against a rail. “It's as though she thinks there's danger lurking everywhere. And the more she thinks about it, the more she convinces herself all is lost.”

“But she wasn't this way when you bought her, right?” I asked, trying to remember the details of what Natasha had told me when I was out at her place on Saturday.

“I sure didn't see it. And I've talked to the owner since then. He said she was fine when she was showing. But he admitted he didn't spend much time with her. He had professional trainers and groomers taking care of her. He checked all her medical and training records. Nobody noticed a behavior change before she left.”