Bittersweet Farm 2: Joyful Spirit Page 13

  “I’m riding with you, you’re not riding with me?”

  “If you want to put it like that.”

  “Do you know what position this puts me in?”

  “Untenable if you don’t give in.”

  I thought for a long moment because the choice was important. “You win.”

  “It’s not about winning, it’s about losing gracefully.” Lockie smiled. “Stay with me tonight. You can, for the first and only time, spend as long as you like telling me what a bastard I am.”

  I looked at him and shook my head. “That’s not how I feel.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  We lay on his bed and Lockie reached over to turn off the light. While not an unpleasant scent, I could smell the hay on the other side of the wall. It was as close to living in a barn as it was possible to get without actually living in a barn.

  The frame of his cottage was already raised in the front field near the road. Every day CB and I would hack down the driveway to check on the progress as I could barely wait for him to be able to move. It would be comfortable, fresh and clean there. He would have new furniture or very old furniture as Jules kept telling me we had to go antiquing to furnish the carriage house. She seemed to be having a wonderful time picking out paint, appliances and floor coverings.

  This would be Lockie’s first home of his own, even if it was on our property. He had always been a transient, living at one farm or another, most of the time having no possessions other than his clothes, his tack, his truck and his trailer. In the carriage house, he would have closets, drawers, bookcases, a desk and a good couch. Lockie could cease being a vagabond.

  “So tell me off, Talia.”

  I reached for his hand.

  “You must have been very angry with me.”

  “Scared for you. Yes, and angry that you would take chances.”

  “If I didn’t have the accident, would you still be so concerned about me?”

  “Of course. Your accident just puts it into sharper focus.”

  Lockie squeezed my hand. “I’m grateful.”

  “But?”

  “No but.”

  He was grateful because I cared about him? I didn’t know what to say next but it made me wish that each moment we had could be stretched to the horizon without breaking.

  “If you’re not going to yell at me, try to sleep. We have a long trip to take tomorrow.”

  “I can’t go, I have school.”

  “Amanda gave you the day off, it’s that important.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “New York State.”

  “To look at a horse?”

  Why would that get me out of school for the day?

  “Trust me, Talia.”

  ***

  We were on the road heading west by seven, my hair still wet from my shower, not knowing any more about our destination than I did the night before. The GPS on his dashboard told him what roads to take and I was lost, never having been in this part of the state before. Soon enough it became obvious we were in the Catskills region, there were enough signs to give me a hint.

  “Are you getting nervous, Silly?”

  “Curious.”

  “Only?”

  There was no point in pretending with Lockie. He read me as easily as he did any of the horses. “No.”

  “Don’t be. This is for you.”

  We made another turn onto a narrow country road and drove for only a few minutes.

  “You have reached your destination,” the GPS told us.

  Lockie slowed the truck then stopped.

  I turned to him.

  He lowered the sun-visor, took a photo from it and held it out in front of us.

  The photograph was of my grandmother Margolin as a very young woman sitting where we were now, at the entrance to a vacation resort. The sign was gone, just the frame remained and that was falling apart. The stone bench was still there although almost obscured by an old wild rose bush.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He handed me the picture I had shown him months ago.

  “You know.”

  I couldn’t put it into words without tearing up and he knew it.

  “Go out there and sit where she sat. I’ll take your picture.”

  Lockie reached for his camera bag from behind the seat and opened the door.

  I was frozen again between the K and E of my life.

  “Get a move on, we have to get home. Horses to ride. Fences to be thrown into,” he teased.

  “Lockie!”

  “You can’t yell at me today, you missed your chance last night.”

  Opening the truck door, I wished I had a sundress and the oxford shoes to wear like my grandmother had on in the old photograph. In mid-stride, I paused.

  “Don’t cry, Talia. This is for your granddaughter. Let her see you smiling the way you can see your grandmother smiling. Someday she will hand it to a young man, the way you did to me, the way your mother did to your father and she will say ‘My grandmother had a beautiful smile.’“

  Lockie raised his camera. I walked to the granite slab and sat down, positioning myself in the pose my grandmother had struck. I felt as though I was looking down a narrow tube into a future so far away that I couldn’t see the person looking back at me but who existed as surely as I did.

  ***

  Greer was riding Spare toward the barn when we drove in. She pulled up and slid off.

  Lockie got out of the truck. “Did you ride Counterpoint?”

  “He’s off,” she replied, running up her irons.

  “That’s why I wrapped him last night. I hoped it was just a strain.”

  “Maybe it is,” Greer replied. “Where did you two go?”

  “Shin Creek, New York.”

  “What’s there?”

  “An old bench covered in roses.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Greer replied without enthusiasm. “Lockie, you had a call just after lunch from some photographer in the city. Call him back.”

  “Did he say what it’s about?”

  “Dad’s office gave him the number.”

  “Okay.”

  “I left it by the phone.”

  “Thank you, Greer,” Lockie replied and went into the barn.

  “How is that teacher Dad got for you?” Greer asked me.

  “Amanda is brilliant.”

  “Do you like being home-schooled?”

  “So far. It’s the one-on-one attention that makes everything move faster but there’s a lot more work.”

  “You always did like reading,” Greer replied.

  “Yes. It helped me forget where I was.”

  “You just don’t know how to make the best of a bad situation, do you?”

  I shrugged. “I’m learning.”

  By the time I reached CB’s stall to give him a handful of grain, Lockie was leaving the tack room.

  “You need a shave,” I said.

  Lockie put his hand on his face to check.

  I laughed. “I’m talking to CB.”

  His whiskers were prickly on my skin as he closed his lips around the oats.

  “We have an unusual event scheduled here for tomorrow,” Lockie announced.

  “I’m breathless with suspense,” Greer said, her voice reeking of ennui, as she led Spare to the wash stall.

  “If boredom threatens, then you can go off to Millbrook and be with your friends,” Lockie replied. “I’m sure you have no interest in fashion shoots.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Maurizio Bevelaqua is a top photographer for some magazine I never heard of and can’t remember what he said now. They’re bringing the crew and using the farm as a set.”

  “Why?” Greer asked standing in the doorway with the hose in her hand.

  “Because we’re picturesque,” Lockie replied. “We’re an iconic horse farm.”

  Greer made a face and went back to Spare.

  “No, really, why?”

  “That is the reason. Be
cause they need the landed gentry look.”

  “What audience is that?”

  “I have no clue. There will be a model and they’re bringing their equipment, reflectors and what all they need to accomplish this project.”

  “Why does it have to be tomorrow?”

  “Because the weather is going to be beautiful tomorrow but it’s going to rain later in the week.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, that’s the weather forecast as of this morning,” Lockie said as he went to Wingspread’s stall.

  “The ground is going to be wet for the hunter pace?”

  “If it rains it will be.”

  “No. I don’t like it.”

  “Come here.”

  I stepped closer to him and he kissed me. “It will be fine. We’ll put studs in their shoes.”

  When he arrived at the farm, Lockie had the farrier switch most of the horses over to shoes that would take studs. They were used to give better traction while riding cross-country. Since neither Greer nor I competed in cross-country events before Lockie became our trainer, we had never used studs.

  “Did Wing have studs in his shoes the day of the accident?”

  “Yes.”

  “So they’re of no help whatsoever,” I said in dismay.

  Lockie laughed and kissed me again. “Tack CB and we’ll get some exercise.”

  The way he said it made it sound like it was going to be a nothingburger workout. By the time we got back to the barn, I could barely stand up my legs were so tired.

  “The hunter pace is going to be tough for you,” Lockie said dismounting and flipping his irons over the saddle.

  “Hang on. There’s the hunt speed division, the give it a good shot speed division and the Sunday stroll speed division.”

  “That’s not the way I would describe the event but if you would like to think of it in those terms, be my guest.”

  “Why can’t we just hack our way through the countryside?”

  “Because no.”

  There was no point discussing it further. “All right.”

  Lockie turned to me quickly. “Did I hear that correctly? You said all right?”

  “Yes. And make a big fuss about it so I’m well and truly embarrassed.”

  He stopped at the entrance to the barn. “Is that what you think, that if you give in, it’s a sign of weakness?”

  I thought for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Life is really hard for you then,” he said and continued into the barn.

  “Lockie?”

  “You don’t have to fight for everything. I’m not trying to put one over on you. All it’s about is a hunter pace.”

  I started to refute that.

  “No, Tali. There’s no deeper significance to it than that. Choose your battles more wisely.” Lockie slipped Wing’s bridle off and exchanged it for his halter. “Besides, I really am here to help you.”

  “Brother, are you wasting your time, Greer said as she walked past us.

  “I’m here to help you, too,” he called after her.

  Greer shrugged.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Just after I finished the barn chores and was headed back to the house for my lessons with Amanda, four large SUV’s and a rental truck with New York plates came down the driveway. While I would have liked to watch the proceedings, I couldn’t.

  Jules was working on the marble countertop rolling out pastry when I reached the kitchen. “There’s a mug of tea in the microwave for you. Just heat it up.”

  “Do you always think of everything,” I asked pressing the keypad.

  “No. I forgot parsley at the market.”

  The bell dinged and I opened the door for my tea.

  “Amanda’s waiting for you. You’ll see the stick figure models later.”

  “Or I’ll get lucky and it’ll be over by the time I get back to the barn,” I said on my way to the den.

  ***

  I wasn’t lucky because nearly four hours later they were still setting up, rushing back and forth, the photographer calling out orders and people were standing near the catering truck, something that had appeared out of nowhere. A motor home had arrived and was parked blocking the gate to the north field.

  In the barn, Lockie was on the aisle wrapping a sales pony’s legs for shipping to a sweet young girl in New Jersey.

  Crouching next to him, I kissed his cheek.

  “They haven’t started yet. I could have made it to the city and back by now,” Lockie replied and kissed me in return.

  “What the hold up?”

  “The model was late.”

  “Did you see her?”

  “No, she’s hiding in the motor home being re-beautified. I think they took some shots earlier while I was in the indoor.”

  Lockie finished with the wrap and we stood.

  “Even Greer could have been ready in that amount of time.”

  “I’d say we should leave but I don’t know when the van’s coming for this guy.”

  “Hey, can I have some help out here?” A man called to us from the doorway.

  “What can I help you with?” Lockie asked.

  “We need a prop horse.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “A horse. A horse. Do you have one here?”

  “Yes,” Lockie replied. “What do you need a horse for?”

  “To stand there and make the model look good,” he said sharply as though we were stupid.

  “What color horse would you like?”

  “Something that doesn’t clash with auburn hair.”

  “Coming right up,” Lockie said as the man turned his back on us and rushed back to the photography site.

  “He’s quite rude,” I commented.

  “Bring CB out to them. He’ll probably enjoy watching all the activity.”

  “I’m not letting them touch CB.”

  “You’ll stand there and hold him.”

  “I’m not having my photo taken.”

  I hadn’t had a shower or changed my clothes since I had done chores. There was no way I was being recorded for posterity looking as though I had just been dragged through a field and left to dry on the manure pile.

  “Fine. Just bring him out there and see what they want.

  A minute later, Lockie and I were walking to the crowd, CB looking around trying to take in everything. I was sure he didn’t know what to make of it because I didn’t.

  We went past the motor home and there was a piece of paper on the door. “Ceallaigh” had been printed on it with a wide tip marking pen.

  “What does that spell,” I asked him.

  Lockie gave it a glance. “Looks Irish to me. I think it’s pronounced Kelly.”

  There were a lot of letters just to say Kelly but took Lockie’s word for it because I had never been to Ireland and he had.

  “Is that the prop horse?” Someone shouted to us.

  “Yes.”

  “Bring him over here, we’re running late.”

  I didn’t move. “What do you want to do with him?”

  “All it has to do is stand there.” A man pointed to a spot by the fence. “Can it do that?”

  “He can...” I began.

  “Don’t, Tal. Let’s just get them out of here with the least amount of annoyance.”

  I brought CB to the fence.

  “Well, you have to get out of the frame,” the photographer nearly snarled at me.

  Leaving more slack with the lead shank, when I stepped back, CB followed me.

  “Can it remain in one place?”

  I pushed CB back two steps. “He’s not a dog. They’re not taught to sit and stay.”

  The model appeared. She had the kind of long, curly hair women had in either fashion magazines or sword and sorcery movies.

  “I’m glad you finally made it, Ceallaigh,” the photographer said.

  He pronounced it Kelly so Lockie was correct.

  “Take your position by the fence again
.”

  She turned into a statue. “Near the horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s so big. What if it tramples me?”

  I looked at Lockie.

  “He’s a big baby, you’ll be fine,” Lockie told her.

  When Ceallaigh turned to him, it was like throwing a switch on all their auxiliary lighting. She smiled showing perfect white teeth that would have received thunderous applause at a dental convention.

  “I would feel safer if you’d hold him,” she said stepping closer to Lockie.

  I groaned.

  “It’s her horse, he’s crazy about her.”

  “Please,” Ceallaigh begged him.

  The van to pick up the pony made its way slowly toward the barn.

  “Tal, would you take care of the pony and I’ll hold CB?” Lockie asked.

  I held out the lead shank to him.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered as I passed.

  “This is going to cost you, mister,” I replied.

  As I walked away, I thought I could hear Cellaigh cooing over him.

  ***

  By the time the fashionistas left, Pavel, Tracy and I were in the middle of afternoon chores. Lockie led a food-deprived CB to his stall and he went straight to his feed tub.

  “I’m hungry, too,” Lockie admitted as he slid the stall door shut.

  “Go up to the house and have Jules make you something.”

  “No, I’ll wait. What needs to be done?”

  “I’ve got it, Boss,” Tracy said as she came down the aisle with the hay cart. “You worked hard all afternoon posing for photos.”

  I wasn’t sure why the photographer decided Lockie should be in the shots because the process ground to a halt as he was primped enough to be included. As far as I was concerned, he enjoyed it too much, but it was good to see him smile. Not as good to see Ceallaigh leaning against him and looking up at him coquettishly.

  Lockie and I drove up to the house where Jules was setting the table outside for dinner.

  “I thought we’d take advantage of the good weather while we still have it,” she said placing several large glass containers filled with water and white flower blossoms.

  We went into the house and each of us helped move utensils and plates out to the terrace. Jules brought a large bowl of salad and we sat at our places, except Greer who was still at Sabine’s.

  “How did the photo shoot go?” My father asked.

  “They weren’t underfoot,” I replied. “Not much.”