The Heart of the Lone Wolf (8 page)

shocked and many told him he should know better. But once he made up his mind, Papa was never swayed. To each complaint, he gave the same response.

“He’s a man who needs the work. He made it clear he’s willing to risk his life and limbs for this post, which nobody else can do. I’m not one to tell him he can’t have the chance.”

As usual, Papa was right. Only an adventurer could handle the wild gray colt.

There was nothing that horse could do to keep the Trainer off his back. He bucked, swerved, reared, and broke out into a run only to stop suddenly. The Trainer fell to the ground or soared towards the sky time and again. But he’d somersault in the air or through the muck, only to get back on his feet, ready to spring and go at it again. Two weeks passed before the colt stopped fighting him, but his ears flattened every time the Trainer was on him. It was a month before he could coax a bit between his teeth. But once the Trainer had him harnessed in a bridle, the colt was his.

The boys who worked in the stables were often scolded back to work because they could never resist the sight of the Trainer at his work. As much as I disliked him, I couldn’t resist watching either. Now I was also jealous because I wanted to ride that colt.

It was six weeks after the Trainer came when the accident happened. The irony was that I was riding the gentlest horse in the stables that day. I was feeling out of sorts and the head stable hand mentioned that the black and white mare could do with a run outside. So I agreed to take her. I remember she was going no faster than a canter along the peach orchard at the edge of the fields, the manor and barn neither near nor far, the riding ring in the foreground where the Trainer worked with the colt. I saw he still hadn’t gotten a saddle on its back. The trees were starting to bear fruit and I remember the light aroma of unripe peaches when it happened.

I didn’t understand what was going on, only that my horse stumbled and nearly tripped. I almost fell off when she stepped out of rhythm. But out of habit, I fought to keep my balance and stay on. That was a mistake because the fall wouldn’t have been serious if I’d simply allowed it. I didn’t know a feral dog had taken up chase after the mare and nipped at her heels. I sensed the animal’s fear, but I couldn’t will her to do what I wanted. The horse’s pace became erratic and I couldn’t figure out where to lean to keep my balance. I felt it when the mare’s fear escalated into panic. Then I realized I had nothing to hold onto except strands of mane.

Everything happened so fast that I can’t recall all of it. I remember farmers rushing towards me from the fields and hearing a familiar voice shouting at me to jump off the mare, but I couldn’t move. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. When the horse reared, I held desperately to those coarse hairs of mane. That voice was still shouting at me to let go and fall, but all I could think was that I had to stay on the horse. Somehow I managed to.

Next thing I knew, I heard a loud blast. The mare’s panic exploded and she threw me to the sky. She knocked the breath out of me, and pulled my fingers from her mane with a buck of her hind legs. I was flying. There was a moment of euphoria as I rose to the blueness of a clear day. Then I felt myself fall and the terror returned. I closed my eyes to my coming doom, but I remember I never screamed.

The impact was not what I expected. I expected crushing pain when I hit the ground, but what I felt was hard and soft, both a warmth and a strength. I didn’t realize I was pressed against flesh and muscle and bone, not even when his arms squeezed me close. I kept my eyes shut because I was afraid I would hurt if I opened them. The sensation of spinning confused me, my legs still soaring through the air while my torso was secure. His breath blew against my ear the moment I heard the beat of his heart, its rhythm strong and steady. Then I knew somebody had caught me. The momentum of spinning slowed down until my feet touched the ground. My legs, hips, back, and head melted against solid earth when he laid me down.

Then I heard that voice as he shook me gently.

“Little miss,” he said. “Little miss, it’s all right. You’re safe.”

I opened my eyes and looked into the purity of another soul. The Trainer was leaning over me. His face was pale, but in the depths of his eyes, I saw a kindness born from something other than pity, something beautiful I had never seen in my life. It was so stunning that I couldn’t bear it. I closed my eyes again and started to shake. The trembling was the most violent I’d ever known. It consumed every part of me and I couldn’t make it stop.

The Trainer made soothing noises and pulled me close. His strength was a

comfort when he rocked me back and forth. My head was pressed against his chest, the Trainer’s hand warm as he rubbed the length of my back. When I felt the beat of his heart, I started to cry. Nobody had ever touched me like that.

I could sense my father’s presence when all fell quiet and the Trainer’s arms went stiff. Tension pierced the cocoon. I turned around.

What I saw didn’t seem quite real. The only motion was the gray colt trotting back and forth with reins trailing along the ground. Several farmers were there, frozen in place. One held the mare by the bridle and another hung his head with rifle in hand.

A slain dog was not far from his feet. Although they didn’t move, the farmers cast furtive glances between Papa and us. I looked up at the Trainer and saw him glaring at those men in disgust, his hand continuing to stroke my back. Somehow that reassured me.

Papa scanned the scene for a moment before he dismounted. When his feet

touched the ground, the farmer who shot the dog rushed to him, full of tears and remorse for his part in the accident. Papa consoled him that no harm had come of it.

Then he approached us. His touch was strange when he brushed my shoulder lightly. I stared at his hand until he pulled it back.

“Are you all right?” he finally asked.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. So I nodded.

“Well, pull yourself together, Child. You can ride back with me.”

Then Papa glanced at the wild gray colt still trotting back and forth and peered at the Trainer.

“Excellent work,” he said. “I’d like to see you in my study as soon as possible.”

When I got home, I was put to bed with soup and a thick mug of hot chocolate, my favorite drink. The Doctor came and examined me. He said he couldn’t find any injuries, but the Cook still boiled some hot compresses and my maid pressed them along my back. As I was drifting off, the Cook said the Trainer was given an increase in wages and the responsibility of escorting me on my rides. I frowned, but fell asleep believing that all I heard was from a dream.

The next morning, when I found out that was true I was both offended and

excited. I resented losing some of my freedom, but I still remembered how it felt when the Trainer stroked my back. Yet it was a week before I could go to the barn. I had never been afraid to ride in my life, but every night I had nightmares about those moments when I couldn’t control the horse. I always woke up shaking just when the mare threw me off her back. As the days passed, my restlessness grew stronger than my fear and I returned to the stables.

The Trainer was waiting for me. He must have made even more progress with the wild colt, for the animal now donned both a saddle and bridle. When I saw the black and white mare made ready for me, the blood drained from my face and I had the sudden urge to retch.

“You know you have to,” he said. “You will always be afraid if you don’t get back on this horse.”

I nodded because I knew he was right. I also knew the Trainer was right when he insisted we ride along the peach orchard. But the mare tensed when he led us to the place where the dog had attacked, which made me even more uncertain. I had never felt precarious in a saddle before, but on this morning, I was teetering in my seat. The Trainer rode beside us in our first two passes along the orchard. But after running another length, instinct took over and I finally relaxed into the mare’s rhythm. Her pace steadied with the return of my confidence. The Trainer stopped and watched me run the mare a few rounds along the peach trees. Then I was ready to move on and reined to a stop beside him.

“This is boring,” I said.

“I assume you must be feeling better,” he chuckled. “Where do you want to go?”

“How about the fields on the other side of town? Or the woods east of the house.”

The Trainer didn’t say anything at first, his golden brown eyes intent when he looked at me. The way he was staring made me blush. I hated it whenever I did that, but there was no stopping the blood rushing to my cheeks. However, I resisted the urge to glance away.

“Little miss, do you know somewhere there’s no folks to be seen?”

His question surprised me and I didn’t answer right away. But I was also curious as to what he wanted, and played along.

“The only place I can think of is the Abandoned Valley. Nobody ever goes there.”

“The Abandoned Valley?”

I remembered he wasn’t from here and pointed northwest of the fields.

“It runs on both sides of the river. South until the Ancient Grove, then north until you get to the No Man’s Land at the border.”

“That sounds a nice spot,” he said. “Why doesn’t anybody go there?”

“Same reason nobody goes into those woods, because of the Sorcerer. Haven’t you heard about him yet?”

I flushed even harder when the Trainer burst out laughing.

“What are you doing? It’s not funny.”

“Oh come on!” he said. “You’re a smart girl. You don’t believe those stories, do you?”

“The Sorcerer of the Caverns is real!” I protested. “Even my father won’t go there.”

“Well,” the Trainer said, his eyes twinkling, “if we should meet this Sorcerer, I’m sure I can fight off the dirty old cuss.”

It was the first time I met anybody who doubted the existence of the Sorcerer and I had never been more shocked in my life. All I could do was shake my head.

The Trainer stopped laughing when he took a good look at my face. His fingers tapped the front of his saddle for a moment and his manner was much gentler when he spoke.

“I promise you we’ll go far from the woods. I’m sure it’ll be okay if we stay close to the border in the northwest.”

His tone was very persuasive and his persistence made me suspicious. It was my turn to stare inside of him. I always found when people want to do something they know is wrong, their faces take on the likeness of a rodent. I’ve seen those rat expressions on the children from Sunday school whenever they taunted the butcher’s son. I’ve seen it on the Cook the first time she gossiped after facing Papa’s ire. But the Trainer didn’t have that sly, guarded look.

“Papa would dismiss you for even making a suggestion like this.”

I was surprised when the Trainer nodded.

“Absolutely, he would.”

“Then why do you want to go there?”

Looking back, the magnitude of the risk he was taking steals my breath away. I could have told Papa everything and ruined him. If the Trainer offended my father, he would never get another post again, not even for a day’s work.

“Because I want to teach you how to ride like a man,” he said. “I’ve been trying to convince the Patron since I started. But he refuses, even after your accident.”

I looked at his saddle. His legs were spread across the back, gripping the flanks of the colt. I blushed hard when I thought of sitting like that, and then I was dizzy from the blood draining from my face.

“Women ride like this all over the world,” he said, reading my mind.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “If Papa won’t permit it, then you can’t.”

“Well, I can’t be true to my conscience and not teach you.”

“But he said no.”

“Little miss,” he murmured, “you ride hard and that scares the devil out of me.

It’ll be the death of you someday if you don’t learn to ride in this saddle.”

He slapped the leather as he finished. Then he turned and opened the saddlebag strapped behind his leg, and pulled out a rolled up pair of breeches. The fabric was thick, just like the pants the stable boys wore.

“You can wear these under your skirts,” he said. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

He held the breeches out to me. I stared at the tightly rolled bundle in his hand, unable to move. Everything the Trainer suggested was unheard of, and just thinking about it terri fied me. But my skin tingled and the shiver climbing my spine was an unfamiliar pleasure. An image came to my mind of what would happen if we were caught, making my breath come in tiny puffs. Then I remembered what it was to soar and to fall, the ground rushing to me before I closed my eyes. I remembered hoping the pain wouldn’t be too much before my life was over.

I took the pants. It was the first time in my life I disobeyed my father, and thus began the most blessed season of my life.

I never knew how lonely I was until I made a friend. Whenever I remember the Trainer, he’s always riding the wild gray colt. I can still see his eyes sparkling when he laughed, his teeth brilliant against his tanned skin. I’ll never forget the guarded affection in his eyes when he looked at me, his fingers tickling my scalp when he ruf fled my hair. I can still feel myself soaring when he spun me through the air, holding me only by the arms. The Trainer gave me the only joy I ever knew in my life, and each day spent with him was pure euphoria. Sometimes I thought I would burst from the unbearable sweetness.

I will never let go of the rumble of laughter from that time. It echoes inside me, hoping for another chance to savor that lightness of spirit again.

As for learning to ride in a man’s saddle, I mastered it within a few days. Once I knew how much stronger I could be, it was torture to ride sidesaddle. As soon as we came to the Abandoned Valley, the Trainer would put his saddle on my mount and rode bareback, the lady’s saddle forgotten on the ground until it was time to go home.

But the Trainer showed me much more. He taught me about freedom, all because I didn’t believe his stories. Every day he talked about his adventures, but I couldn’t fathom how he did such things because he had nothing. In response, he insisted I learn through experience how to live like a vagabond. Those lessons were the hardest I ever had. While I struggled to build a camp, to start a fire, and to hunt and fish, the Trainer did nothing but talk about traveling in the far parts of the world. He refused to help me until I apologized for doubting his word. A longing awakened in me that made my formal education with both the Duenna and Tutor intolerable.