The Lost Hours (24 page)

Tucker gave Oreo’s reins to Emily to hold and moved next to Lucy. “I can lift you on the first time if you’d like.”

For a moment, I thought Lucy would say yes. But then she looked back at the pony and I watched as she set her jaw. “No. I want to do it myself.”

I showed her where to put her hands on the pommel and then held the reins while I watched her slip her left boot into the stirrup and hoist herself into the saddle. The pony took a step to the side and for a moment it looked as if she might lose her balance and fall back to the mounting block. Tucker made a move to step forward but I held him back with my hand.

Biting her lip, Lucy held on to the pommel and slid her right leg over the pony so that she was sitting astride.

“Great job,” I said, patting the pony’s flank and then handing the reins to Tucker so I could finish adjusting the stirrups for Lucy. “How does it feel?”

Her smile made me want to look away, reminding me too much of what it felt like to sit astride a horse. “Like I’m twelve feet tall.” She smiled even brighter. “Like I have four legs instead of two.” Her eyes closed, her expression dreamlike. “And I can run faster and jump higher than anybody.”

Something seemed to tighten around my heart.
Yes. I know.

Lucy leaned down and gave a tentative pat on the pony’s neck. “What’s his name?”

Tucker rubbed the pony’s nose. “You know, I forgot to ask my friend. But I don’t think it would hurt if you wanted to call him something different for now, if you’d like.”

Lucy nodded, her face solemn again. She turned to me. “Do you remember the name of your first pony?”

“Oh, yes. Her full name was Elizabeth Bennett but I called her Benny for short.” I glanced over at Tucker, who was shaking his head and trying to hide a smile. “I had a babysitter at the time who was obsessed with Jane Austen and her books and she helped me name her.”

Lucy looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’d like to call my pony Benny for now.”

Tucker gave Lucy a tentative pat on her leg before removing his hand. “Then that’s what he’ll be. Just don’t let him know that he’s named after a girl.”

I put the reins in Lucy’s hands. “Keep your thumbs up and your hands low and steady. I’m going to have your father lead you around the ring while I get Sara onto her pony.”

For the first time since meeting her, I saw a rebellious look cross her face. “I don’t need Daddy to hold on. I can do it myself.”

I placed my hands over hers. “I know that, but it’s also important that we start slowly. I want Benny to get used to you and you to get used to Benny. He seems gentle and sweet, but I’d feel better knowing that your father is close by just in case. I promise you’ll be riding by yourself before you know it.”

“But I want to go fast.” She bit her bottom lip again, as if punishing herself for having spoken out loud.

I know,
I wanted to say, recalling the solid feel of saddle and horse beneath me, the power and joy of racing the wind, the temporary illusion of invincibility.

Before I could respond, Tucker turned to her. “Miss Earlene is right. You always need to learn to walk before you run.” He wiped dust from Lucy’s boot. “Would you rather Miss Earlene walked you around first instead of me?”

I think we both held our breath as we waited for her answer.

Lucy focused on her hands in her brand-new riding gloves. She shook her head. “No, Daddy. I want you to.”

I saw the relief on Tucker’s face before facing Sara, who had moved so far back that she was now pressed against the fence, as far away from the ponies as possible.

“Are you ready, Sara?”

Avoiding looking at anybody, she vigorously shook her head, her pigtails flying.

Slowly, I approached her and knelt in the dust, oblivious to my pants or my knee. I put my hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “It’s okay to be a little scared the first time. Most people are.” I didn’t tell her that I’d been scared, too, because I sensed that she’d know I was lying.

Then I remembered the second and last time my grandmother had to tell me to get back in the saddle—an incident that I’d nearly forgotten if only because I’d barely listened to her at the time. I was about eleven or twelve years old, unbeatable, it seemed, in my quest to be the best. I’d long since grown used to relegating my quiet grandmother to the background, a background she seemed to crave or at least had grown used to. So I’d been surprised that after I’d taken a fall and sprained my wrist, she told me to get back on,just as she’d told me the time I fell off my first pony, Benny. That I could do it despite my grandfather’s doubts and insistence that I withdraw. I’d won first place in that competition, and the trophy was somewhere in the attic of my grandparents’ Savannah house.

I looked Sara in the eye and repeated from memory,“The only way to get beyond something difficult is to put it behind you.” I thought for a moment, trying to phrase it in words she might understand better. “It’s like eating your vegetables so you can have dessert. The sooner you finish the broccoli, the sooner you get to eat your ice cream.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “But I like broccoli.”

Tucker coughed and Emily looked away, hiding her smile.

“Then imagine that you didn’t. What’s the fastest way to get that ice cream?”

“To eat my broccoli.”

“That’s right.” I squeezed her hands. “Sara, do you really want to ride Oreo today?”

Slowly, she nodded.

“And what’s the best way to do that?”

She looked up at me and then over at the pony. “Get up in the saddle?”

“Right. And once you’re up there, how do you think you’ll feel?”

Sara thought for a moment. “Like I’m riding a horse.”

“Exactly. And you do know that your daddy, Emily, and I won’t let you get hurt, right?”

Her wide eyes swiveled back from the pony to regard me. “But you got hurt.”

I remained where I was without blinking, ignoring the pain in my knee from kneeling so long. “But that was my fault, not the horse’s. He did everything right. I was the one who lost my concentration, even though it was only for one second. My horse depended on me to tell him what to do, and I failed him and myself because of that mistake. But I’m here to teach you how not to let that happen. So, see—you’re already one step ahead of me.”

“But what if I fall off?”

I leaned forward, recalling the rest of what my grandmother had told me. “Then you get back in the saddle before you forget the reason you got up on a horse in the first place.”

I stood, almost groaning with relief when I straightened my knee. I held out my hand and she took it. “So are you ready?”

Sara gave a firm nod and allowed me to lead her to the mounting block, where Emily had already moved Oreo into position. I put my hands on her narrow hips. “Oreo’s a bit on the plump side, so you’re not going to have any trouble staying on her. I’m going to lift you into the saddle, all right? Otherwise, you might hurt her feelings when you can’t fit your right leg over her back because she’s been enjoying the grass a little too much.”

Sara giggled as I lifted her and placed her in the saddle. I held on tightly until I was assured that she had a firm grasp on the reins. “How do you feel?” I asked.

“Like I’m on a horse,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Great. Then we’re on the same page.” I showed her how to hold the reins, then took the lead rope from Emily. I turned back to Tucker. “Let’s just walk them around the ring a few times and then let them practice getting on and off their ponies. That should be enough for their first lesson.”

“Can we at least walk fast?” Lucy asked, kicking her heels into Benny’s flank.

I watched as Tucker struggled not to smile. “After you show me you can keep your seat while we’re going slowly. Then we can up the pace. But not before.”

She looked at her father without smiling. “I’d much rather go fast.”

Tucker returned her gaze. “We can’t always get what we want.”

Lucy touched the pony’s mane with one hand. “I know that, Daddy.” Her voice carried with it more hurt than I thought an eight-year-old could know.

I looked away, unable to look at Tucker’s face and tugged on Oreo’s reins, clicking my tongue. “Let’s go. And try to remember to keep your heels down and your toes up.” Slowly, Oreo began to amble, followed and eventually surpassed by the more spritely Benny.

After an hour, we stopped. Emily took the girls home to change into swimsuits before going to swim in the pond, and the stable manager, Andi, with her nose still bandaged from her encounter with Captain Wentworth, appeared to take the ponies back to the barn, leaving just Tucker and me. I felt awkward being alone with him, remembering my outburst from the previous day as well as Lucy’s pervading silence during the entire lesson. There was a tension between Lucy and her father that I couldn’t discern, something that went a lot deeper than childish disappointments. I had no interest in becoming involved; I’d be leaving at the end of the summer and had no business delving into problems that had nothing to do with me.

But then I remembered what Lucy had said when she was on the pony, how she wanted to run, and to run fast. I was lost then, of course. I had found a kindred spirit, not one I could easily leave behind. And Tucker, too. He carried his regret like a suitcase, a barrier between him and everyone else, including his daughters.
Regret is as useful as trying to stop a flooding river with your hands. It’ll keep you busy, but you’ll still drown.
I recalled Lillian’s words, and wondered if she’d ever shared them with Tucker.

His eyes were warm but still guarded as he approached me. “Thank you, Earlene. The girls really respond to you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

He stood close, close enough that I could smell the peculiarly enticing scent of citrus cologne, male sweat and horse. An understanding seemed to hover between us—an understanding of kept secrets mingling with the desire to be set free from them. I looked away, uncomfortable.

Tucker continued. “I can tell you really know horses and riders. And that you must have once been a pretty amazing equestrian.”

I made a great show out of wiping dirt from my hands as I weighed my answer. Finally, I looked up at him, unable to resist parting with a piece of truth. “I was pretty good, I guess.”

His eyes narrowed. “You must not have spent a lot of time on the circuit or I’d recognize your name.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down my pride. “It was just a hobby for me. Never really expected anything to come out of it, so I just did it for fun.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes not giving anything away. Finally, he broke his gaze and turned toward where the girls had gone with Emily. “I’d like you to keep me posted on their progress.”

Surprised, I asked, “Won’t you be here? I’ve worked it out with Emily that their lesson will be every day at ten o’clock. I was hoping that with a regular schedule you might be able to be here.”

He looked down at his dust-covered boots, and shook his head. “No. I think it’s better if I don’t.”

I pictured Lucy’s face and her expression of pure joy when she’d first mounted the horse. A small fissure of anger erupted inside of me. “Because you don’t think they’ll be good enough? Or because their small attempts now aren’t big enough to warrant your attention?”

His jaw ticked as he turned to me, his anger matching my own. “You have no idea . . .” He stopped, shook his head, then looked away toward the house. It didn’t occur to me until later that beyond the house lay the cemetery, and his wife, buried outside the consecrated ground.

Ignoring his cues to stop, I continued. “Sara was so happy and confident with herself as she sat on top of her pony. Surely you saw that. And Lucy—she’s really got it. The confidence, the seat, the ease in the saddle. It will take a great trainer to make sure she walks before she runs—but look out world when she’s ready to run. Didn’t you see that? Don’t you care? Because more than their own abilities, they need somebody who loves them to tell them how wonderful they are. Without that, nothing they do will seem to matter as much.”

I realized I was almost crying, and that the words I was saying were words I’d rehearsed for years. Words I’d always intended to tell my grandfather, whose love for me seemed to be hinged on how well I performed. It had driven me to succeed, but when I’d failed that final time, I’d found I’d had nothing to fall back on. And the woman who could have convinced me to get back in the saddle had long since been gone from my life, her role in my success unnoticed and forgotten until it was too late.

His eyes softened as he looked back at me. “Don’t you think I know that? They’re my children, and I want only the best for them—whatever they decide that’s going to be. But Susan . . . she made me promise that they wouldn’t ride if for no other reason than that she couldn’t and she saw it as something that would take them away from her. And now that she’s gone . . .”

I swallowed back my anger, remembering the huge loss this man had suffered and felt ashamed. “You must have loved her very much.”

He looked startled as he stared at me for a moment. Then he laughed, a bitter, choking sound that made me take a step back. “No. I never loved her enough. She killed herself because I couldn’t love her enough.” His voice diminished to an almost whisper as he finished speaking.

A stricken look crossed his face as if he was just realizing who he was talking to and that he’d said too much. He took a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He wiped his hands over his face. “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks again.” He began to walk away, his long strides covering ground quickly. He’d made it out of the ring before he turned back around. “Malily asked me to tell you that she expects you for dinner again tonight. Seven o’clock as usual. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, I can make it,” I said, although I realized it hadn’t been a question.