splash. I’d never wet-crossed either of the wide rivers on a horse, and I meant to ask him. But I didn’t have a moment to put the question, because the horse flicked forward its ears and then went straight from walk to canter, and we were away, hard-riding across a field of emerald green.
Oh, it was thrilling!
He was such a good horseman. I’d had riding lessons since I was a little girl, and for some years the use of a pony in return for leading the weekend treks. I could ride, and ride well, but with a saddle and stirrups; yet he was attuned to his horse in a single current that ran through the animal, through him, and through me, too.
We took the field at a canter and then galloped up the incline of a hill. The wind streamed my hair behind me and the white mane of the horse flashed white gold in the rays of the dying sun. We jumped a fence, we took a stream, we leapt over a fallen log. The hooves pounding on the dry grass quickened my heart and I thought, This is terrible this is terrible I’m falling in love with this man and I don’t know where I’m going.
The horse started to slow as it reached the top of the hill, and then he pulled her up so that she went into an easy trot for the last few yards. The animal was breathing fiercely, for it had been a good long gallop. The dusk was settling around our shoulders now and the sky had gone an eerie blue black. When we got to the top of the hill we could see the last red streaks of the sun like the scrap of something torn on the mountains in the west, mountains I didn’t recognize. We crested the hill and the horse picked its way through stones down toward a dark woods. Not like the bluebell woods we had left, but much more dense and shadowed, though the horse and her master both seemed so very sure of the path that I never questioned either for a moment.
“When do we reach the crossing?” I asked at last.
“The crossing? Oh, we’ve done that.”
“We did? When? When did we do the crossing?”
“Back there a ways.”
I didn’t recall any crossing. I asked him about it again.
“Good God, woman, you do ask a lot of questions!”
It was only when we were coming out of the woods, with the sun completely gone and the moon coming up, that I realized I wasn’t going to be home that night. It’s not that I wanted to turn around, but I suddenly felt uneasy about Mum and Dad and how they would be worried about me. I needed to get a message to them. I thought, as soon as we pass a house in this remote place I’ll knock on the door and give them the number and ask if they would please phone and tell them that I’m fine.
The moon went behind some clouds and we emerged from the wood to find not houses but a shadowy, sandy beach. The quartz in the sand twinkled in the half-light with an electrical intensity. I was astonished. I couldn’t believe we had come so far east or west, but when I made some comment he said no, it wasn’t the sea, but a lake. I peered across the water, trying to discern the farther side. In the morning, he said, in the morning I would be able to see all around the lake. And it was true: I could see tiny lights burning here and there out on the water, which I took to be the reflections of dwellings on the far side of the lake.
The water was deep calm, like a layer of oil, but with a sweet, honest odor of mud and weeds. We trailed along the edge of the lake for perhaps half a mile, and soon we came to a large ramshackle house all in darkness.
“Look, I share this place with others, but there shouldn’t be anyone here just now.”
The horse came to a stop. He jumped off and then he helped me down. Everything he did for me was like a little display of chivalry. At first I thought it was a performance, to charm the pants off me, but it was no act; it was his way. He smiled at me briefly and then led the mare into a small stable at the side of the house. I followed. Once inside, he whisked the blanket off the horse and threw it over a
Oh, it was thrilling!
He was such a good horseman. I’d had riding lessons since I was a little girl, and for some years the use of a pony in return for leading the weekend treks. I could ride, and ride well, but with a saddle and stirrups; yet he was attuned to his horse in a single current that ran through the animal, through him, and through me, too.
We took the field at a canter and then galloped up the incline of a hill. The wind streamed my hair behind me and the white mane of the horse flashed white gold in the rays of the dying sun. We jumped a fence, we took a stream, we leapt over a fallen log. The hooves pounding on the dry grass quickened my heart and I thought, This is terrible this is terrible I’m falling in love with this man and I don’t know where I’m going.
The horse started to slow as it reached the top of the hill, and then he pulled her up so that she went into an easy trot for the last few yards. The animal was breathing fiercely, for it had been a good long gallop. The dusk was settling around our shoulders now and the sky had gone an eerie blue black. When we got to the top of the hill we could see the last red streaks of the sun like the scrap of something torn on the mountains in the west, mountains I didn’t recognize. We crested the hill and the horse picked its way through stones down toward a dark woods. Not like the bluebell woods we had left, but much more dense and shadowed, though the horse and her master both seemed so very sure of the path that I never questioned either for a moment.
“When do we reach the crossing?” I asked at last.
“The crossing? Oh, we’ve done that.”
“We did? When? When did we do the crossing?”
“Back there a ways.”
I didn’t recall any crossing. I asked him about it again.
“Good God, woman, you do ask a lot of questions!”
It was only when we were coming out of the woods, with the sun completely gone and the moon coming up, that I realized I wasn’t going to be home that night. It’s not that I wanted to turn around, but I suddenly felt uneasy about Mum and Dad and how they would be worried about me. I needed to get a message to them. I thought, as soon as we pass a house in this remote place I’ll knock on the door and give them the number and ask if they would please phone and tell them that I’m fine.
The moon went behind some clouds and we emerged from the wood to find not houses but a shadowy, sandy beach. The quartz in the sand twinkled in the half-light with an electrical intensity. I was astonished. I couldn’t believe we had come so far east or west, but when I made some comment he said no, it wasn’t the sea, but a lake. I peered across the water, trying to discern the farther side. In the morning, he said, in the morning I would be able to see all around the lake. And it was true: I could see tiny lights burning here and there out on the water, which I took to be the reflections of dwellings on the far side of the lake.
The water was deep calm, like a layer of oil, but with a sweet, honest odor of mud and weeds. We trailed along the edge of the lake for perhaps half a mile, and soon we came to a large ramshackle house all in darkness.
“Look, I share this place with others, but there shouldn’t be anyone here just now.”
The horse came to a stop. He jumped off and then he helped me down. Everything he did for me was like a little display of chivalry. At first I thought it was a performance, to charm the pants off me, but it was no act; it was his way. He smiled at me briefly and then led the mare into a small stable at the side of the house. I followed. Once inside, he whisked the blanket off the horse and threw it over a
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