Chancey of the Maury River (22 page)

My eyes were failing me more than I had revealed to anyone. Even Claire did not realize the loss that I had endured. So strong was my trust in those around me — Claire, Mother, Stu, Mrs. Maiden, Tommy, Mac, Gwen, and even Daisy — that it was easy to hide the truth of the darkness that had taken over my right eye.

Before anyone else noticed, it was Mac who witnessed me walking into fences and gates. He never let on, but he did keep closer to me at those times of the day when we were either being turned out or brought into our rooms. When Mac was near, I could smell sunflowers on him. Like me, Mac received special supplements to his grain twice daily. Mine was to ease my pain; Mac’s was to keep his coat shiny since he was showing nearly every weekend. Had I not been able to smell my friend, I would have felt the ground tremble whenever he came galloping up to me.

“This way, Old App. Come this way.” He would guide me through the gate or toward fresh hay. We never discussed my worsening condition, but Mac surely knew first.

I found it fairly simple to continue my routine with almost no interruption. In my therapeutic work, the sidewalkers flanked me on both sides, guiding me around the ring and through simple courses. While Claire and Mother were still my sidewalkers, Mrs. Strickler had also become certified and occasionally replaced Claire in the ring. None of my therapeutic students were trotting or cantering, and I had long ago retired from jumping. In fact, the last jump I had attempted was at Tamworth Springs. No one had realized yet how rapidly my eyesight had declined, though none would have been surprised to learn of it, for we all had expected this day would come.

While Mac may have been the first to detect the true state of my eyes, Claire was the first to speak of it. Claire’s discovery came on a day of sorrowful circumstances for us both. It was the afternoon that we received the news Trevor’s cancer had returned full force.

One late winter afternoon, as we eagerly awaited the day when springtime finally returned to the blue mountains, Claire was in my room grooming me. She did not intend to ride, only to pamper me a bit. We had no show to prepare for; Claire was pulling my mane because she knew I would enjoy it. In fact, I had nearly dozed off when Trevor’s mother appeared at my door, without Trevor.

“Hi, Mrs. Strickler,” Claire said. “Where’s Trevor today?”

Mrs. Strickler walked into my room and patted me on the neck. She did not answer Claire’s question; instead she asked, “Claire, how are you?”

I felt Claire step back from Mrs. Strickler. I turned my head to Claire’s voice. “Wh-what’s that in your hand? Why do you have Trevor’s blue ribbon?” Claire stopped breathing.

“Claire.” Mrs. Strickler moved closer to me and steadied herself on my neck.

She started again. “Claire, Trevor wants Chancey to have this ribbon. I promised him I would bring it over today.” Mrs. Strickler tucked the ribbon into my halter. She patted my neck again, then smoothed her hand over the ribbon. I recalled how she had smoothed Trevor’s shirt in much the same way on the day we won.

Claire’s hand breezed by my face; she snatched the ribbon out of my halter. “No! This is Trevor’s ribbon; he won it. I have a blue ribbon from the Ridgemore Hunt at home, and T-Trevor, Trevor has one.”

I felt Claire’s hand shake beneath my mouth, as I stood between the two. “H-here, this is Trevor’s.” Again, she tried to make Mrs. Strickler take the ribbon back to her son. Mrs. Strickler was silent. I could feel the two of them looking at each other.

Mrs. Strickler sighed and softly placed the ribbon back in my halter. She touched the ribbon again, and ran her hand slowly from my neck to my withers. Then she addressed me, not Claire.

“Chancey, Trevor is going home soon. He wants you to have this ribbon. He hopes that you will remember how the two of you beat the boy on the fat pony. He especially asked me to give you a message.”

Mrs. Strickler put her mouth to my ear and whispered, “Yah, boy, yah.”

Then she turned back to Claire and took my girl’s hands. Her voice barely made it out of her throat. “Thank you, Claire, for treating Trevor like Trevor. He asked me to give you this. . . .” Mrs. Strickler leaned across me and kissed Claire’s face. Then she left my room.

I heard Claire turn away from the door and walk to the window in my room. I moved toward the sound of her breath and waited for her to call me nearer. I did not wait for long.

“Chancey?” Claire called. “Pony, we’re not going to see Trevor again.”

I took two steps and bumped into Claire. I blew a long breath out. Claire blew back into my nose.

“Come on, Chance. Let’s go for a ride.”

She did not tack me up with a bridle or saddle or even a bareback pad. Claire clipped a lead rope to my halter and escorted me out of the barn. She walked at an urgent pace past the mare field. Daisy and Princess cantered up alongside us, eager to know where we were going. I whinnied my uncertain reply. We passed my paddock, where Gwen and Mac were already turned out; they called out the same as the others.

Claire stopped at the gelding field; Dante threatened to block our entrance. Claire popped Dante’s rear hard enough to make him whinny and canter away. I waited for Claire to guide me through the gate. She clucked at me to hurry up, but I could not see my way through. As she had done so many times in our friendship, Claire tied my lead rope into reins, grabbed hold of my mane, and pulled herself onto my back. When she was a little girl, she would wiggle and writhe to make it up without help. Now she pushed herself up with ease. She squeezed my barrel and called into my ear, “Yah, boy! Yah!” We cantered away.

For the length of the gelding field, Claire never allowed me to break stride. Her calves stayed firmly planted, and she leaned forward, asking for a gallop. “Yah, boy!” she called again. The other geldings whinnied at us to stop. From our field, Mac called out to me, “The fence, Chancey! She’s running you into the electric fence!”

I thought surely Claire could see the fence, for I could not. She began counting, “One, two, one, two.” Claire intended to jump the electric fence. I readied myself, knowing there was nowhere for me to duck. I listened for my cue. My muscles remembered what it felt like to jump, and they began to twitch. “One, two, one, two, one, two,
jump
!”

Claire held me tight, rose into jump position, and lifted me up over the electric fence. She gave me my head, and though I could not see it, I felt that we had easily cleared the height. The geldings galloped right up to it and called out to us. We did not turn back. Claire galloped me through the river where we had swum so often with Trevor. She held her legs firm and stayed right with my center of gravity, encouraging me to scurry up the river’s right bank. Claire was taking me to Saddle Mountain.

We cantered up the old logging trail, never stopping until we had almost reached the peak. Claire jumped down and untied the lead rope, allowing me to graze what grass and sarsaparilla I could find. I kept near Claire, and when I could no longer hear her breath, I rumbled out to her. “Up here, Chancey. I’m sitting up here.” I walked on until the terrain became rockier and I smelled Claire directly at my feet. I dropped my head down to her, and she wrapped her hands around my neck.

Claire was shivering cold. I tossed my head up and down to indicate that we should head back; Claire did not budge. She sat, freezing on a boulder, and, I can only presume, looking down at the Maury River Stables below us. I positioned myself to guard Claire from the wind. I felt the shadow of storm clouds gather around us. The air had grown damp and thick; I could taste that we were standing in a cloud. Claire’s teeth knocked against themselves violently. She would not leave.

I pushed my nose under Claire’s arm; she rebuffed me. “Stop, Chancey.” I pushed against her again.

“Stop it, I said. Stop.”

Now Claire was turning away from me. I wondered what would have happened that day many years ago, when I first turned my back on Claire, if she had left my room as I had asked. She might never have come back. I might never have lived this life at the Maury River Stables. I tried to recall what she had told me that day. “Let love come back,” Claire had said. “Let love come back to you.”

I rested my head on Claire and gently nodded into her shoulder. She paid no mind to me or the winter air. Appaloosa horses grow fine, thick coats; I was happy to share mine with Claire. I moved closer in to her so that I could protect my girl from the harsh wind blowing across Saddle Mountain. So deep were we in winter that the trees atop the mountain could not deter the winds from ripping into us. Claire had never liked the cold.

In the shelter of my withers, Claire grieved for Trevor. I grieved with her, though it would be false for me to claim that I did not also rejoice, for Mrs. Strickler had told me herself Trevor was going home.

Finally, Claire stopped shivering. She held me to her face and warmed her bare hands against my coat. “I love you, Chancey. Let’s go back.”

Claire dried her eyes on my neck, stood up, and tucked her body close into me, seeking warmth. Again, she pushed up onto my back. I waited for some direction from her, for I could not see. The mountain was pulling at me to go down, but I could not determine how steep the grade. Earlier in our friendship, I would have done all the work and carried Claire back to the barn without any need of direction whatsoever. Claire had steered me up Saddle Mountain; Claire would have to steer me down.

“Come on, boy, go on,” Claire urged. Yet she did not pick up the makeshift reins. I did not move. I waited for guidance from Claire. She grew impatient with me, which I understood, for she had yet to realize that I needed her to be my eyes now.

“What’s wrong, Chancey? Can’t you see I’m ready to go?” I did not answer, and I did not move.

“Oh, no. Oh, no.” Claire jumped off me, not on my left side as is customary, but on my right. She stood next to my face, I could feel her there.

“Oh, no.” I felt her arm jerking back and forth.

“Can’t you see my hand?” Claire cried. “Can’t you see my hand?” I rumbled softly into Claire’s ear. There on top of Saddle Mountain, Claire discovered that I was now blind. She did not panic. Claire grabbed my mane and jumped up again.

I felt her legs even and firm on my barrel and her steady application of evenness from both hands. She pushed gently with her seat.

“Walk on, pony. Walk on.”

I stepped out, tracking straight until Claire invited me to turn right. Claire was riding as she always did and I trusted her, as I always had. She led me down the mountain, encouraging me every step. “I’ve got you, boy — don’t worry.” I was not worried; I was with Claire.

As I stepped into the Maury River on our return home, a light snow began falling on us. I heard no birdsong, nor did Claire sing for us — only the sound of my hooves splashing in the river interrupted the silence.

The mares and geldings all stood lined up along the fence watching for our return home. Stu was there, too, to disable the electric fence and allow us to walk over it. As Claire and I walked through the gelding field, each of my former fieldmates offered a word of welcome to me. Gwen and Mac rumbled affectionately, glad to have Claire and me safely back before the snow picked up. We made our way to the barn. There at the end of the line, in the mare field, stood Daisy, who announced for all to hear, “There goes a great horse.”

Have, then, Dam’s prayers for me been answered? When I pass through every memory, as far back as I am able, I arrive at only one answer to this question. My life itself has been a long, prayerful response to my Dam and the fire star. In thinking back to the first echo of my heart, I do not find Monique and her disappointment in me. Nor do I even find Dam and her protection. I find the blue mountains.

I was born here and am grateful that, though I was nearly forced once to leave, I shall remain here forever. Though I will never travel through all of them, I have traveled the mountains enough, along the Maury River and beyond, to know that what can be seen from my room is only their beginning. I am sure the blue mountains go on and on. It comforts me to know that whether I can see them or not, I will always be surrounded by the mountains and the river.

These mountains have watched me grow blind. Yet in the time it has taken me to become an old and failing horse, the mountains have aged but a second. I cannot see, and I am not afraid. Standing here now, in my field with Gwen and Mac, some greater vision has replaced my eyesight.

Here, at the Maury River Stables, is where I will remain for as many more days as I am granted. More than once, I have heard Mother instruct Mrs. Maiden that I am to always occupy the corner room because of its ample space. I have no anxiety about my future and the care that I shall receive, nor do I need to search for food or water, as once I did. I fear nothing and am certain that of the many horses whose end will come in Lynchville, or some similar place, I shall never be among them.

Though I am now entirely blind, I do not lack a meaningful purpose, for I am surrounded by friends. I cannot see them, but I know when they are near. I continue my work with the therapeutic school; my students continue to pray for me every night, and I for them. My former student Kenzie comes often, too; she is helping me learn to be blind. Even Zack has been known to stop by for a visit.