Over the summer Claire began working closely with Mrs. Maiden to teach Trevor to ride, forgoing her own time with me to focus on instructing Trevor. Despite his illness, Trevor was still a strong boy. Like Claire, he asked to learn everything right away. While Claire was content to just be near horses, whether mucking our rooms or feeding hay, Trevor was impatient to learn to ride and to win a blue ribbon. Having never won a blue ribbon, I had just about given up that goal for myself.

Claire never let Trevor cut corners. Whenever Claire would make Trevor go back to the barn to stretch me before riding, he would get frustrated. Trevor’s impatience would show.

“Claire! We only have one hour; can’t I just ride?”

“Okay, if you just want to argue with me for the fun of arguing, we can argue the whole hour. Or you can start stretching him right now and be done with it,” Claire would insist.

She always won, and soon enough, Trevor did not forget to stretch me. Though I understood the boy’s urgent need to learn quickly, I very much appreciated Claire’s insisting that he care for me properly.

The first time he was in the saddle, Trevor kicked me hard in both ribs and shouted, “Yah, boy, yah!”

I did not move. I blinked my eyes twice to show Claire that I understood Trevor’s request but would not respond.

“‘Yah, boy’?” Claire laughed so hard her face turned dark. “Where’d you learn ‘yah, boy’?” She tried to catch her breath.

Trevor giggled and squirmed around. “I’ve just always wanted to say it, that’s all.”

Trevor was motivated and fast to pick up the technical aspects of where to place hands and legs. For the first few weeks, Claire worked with him from the ground, teaching him to find his seat, making sure he placed his legs just behind the girth. He quickly grasped the idea of rising to the trot in time with my outside foreleg. He had more difficulty learning to ride with an open heart, but Claire was insistent that he must learn this, as well as how to post on the correct diagonal.

“Trevor, you’re straight as a board. Relax. And don’t forget to breathe. You’re holding your breath,” she scolded him. He did not immediately experience the contradiction of riding with a posture both straight and relaxed.

“You said, ‘Sit up straight and tall.’ I am sitting up straight and tall,” he complained.

“Try this, Trevor. Sing your favorite song while you’re riding. That will help you relax, and plus, you can’t hold your breath while you sing.”

“I don’t have a favorite song,” he protested.

“Seriously? You don’t have a favorite song?” Claire was incredulous. “Do you know any songs?”

“My mom always sings a stupid one to me.” He resisted Claire’s suggestion.

Claire did not cut Trevor any slack, ever. “Everything can’t be stupid all the time, Trevor. Okay, sing your mom’s stupid song, even if you hate it. Sing it while you ride. Go ahead, sing.”

Trevor asked for the trot and held his breath.

“Sing!” Claire screamed at him. She threw her arms in the air.

“All right, Claire. You can’t get me to relax by yelling at me.”

Claire laughed at Trevor because she knew he was right. “If you would just do what I say, I wouldn’t have to yell.”

That made Trevor laugh, and he began to sing his mother’s song. “‘’Tis the gift to be simple; ’tis the gift to be free.’”

Right away, I felt Trevor relax. He loosened his hands, which had been tightly gripped on the reins; his back softened. Trevor began to breathe.

He sang on. “‘’Tis the gift to come down where you ought to be. And when we find ourselves in the place just right, ’twill be in the valley of love and delight.’”

People are often astonished at the nearly imperceptible movements and shifts that are felt by horses of their riders. I can feel where my students’ eyes are looking. The slightest fidget of a seat feels like a tremor to me. I felt Trevor smile. We remained at a posting trot many times around the ring. Claire called out our instructions: “Now, add circles in your corners, but keep singing and keep posting.”

Trevor’s shoulders opened up, and he sunk deeper. What had been a tentative effort turned into a full serenade. “‘When true simplicity is gained, to bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed. To turn, turn will be our delight, ’til by turning, turning we come ’round right.’”

“Now you’ve got it, Trevor. That’s perfect,” Claire praised him. She called for him to halt, which he did smoothly and gracefully. I squared my legs, so that Claire would compliment Trevor again.

“Look at you, Trev,” Claire said. “Who taught you to halt Chancey square like that? I think you’re ready to go on the trail. Hop down for a sec.”

Trevor lowered himself to the ground tentatively and patted me on the neck. “Good boy, Chancey. You’re making me look good to Claire.”

One afternoon toward the end of August, after Trevor had been riding but three weeks, Claire unbuckled my saddle and hung it over the fence. She cupped her hands tightly together and gave Trevor a leg up.

Without a saddle, his rhythm improved and Trevor was able to mold his body to mine more easily. As Trevor felt the warmth of my own body, he relaxed the tension in his legs and core. He held my mane tightly with both hands, while Claire led us away from the ring and down to the river for Trevor’s first trail ride. Though Trevor did exactly as Claire asked him to do, I could sense his uneasiness; Claire could, too.

“Relax, Trevor,” Claire encouraged him. “Close your eyes and grab mane. Let Chancey carry you all the way down to the river. Don’t be scared, okay?”

“Chancey,” whispered Trevor. He held my mane in his hands and leaned forward to my neck. “I’ve got you, Chancey. I’m not going to let go, either.”

We walked through a field of brand-new saplings of every hardwood of the mountains, all fighting for their share of sunlight. I looked up and could tell by the bend in the canopy which direction the river flowed. Even if I could not have seen it, I would have known by the cool, damp change in the air how to get to the Maury River. I found that if I listened beyond the wind and the songbirds, I could hear the Maury River long before I could see it. Claire heard it, too. We halted.

“Listen,” she told Trevor. “What do you hear?”

Trevor stretched out on my back; he took his time answering her. “I hear a woodpecker drilling that dead tree right there.”

“What else?” Claire wanted him to name the river.

“I hear those annoying geese honking at each other,” he answered.

“Hmmm. I hear them, too. What else?” she asked again.

This time Trevor heard the river. “Water. It sounds like cars driving by, but softer. That’s the river.”

Trevor sat up and again grabbed a handful of my mane, this time with only one hand. He shifted around excitedly.

“Look,” Trevor shouted, “a belted kingfisher! My favorite bird! I like that spiky hairdo.”

I turned my head far to the left to give my face full exposure to the right bank of the river. The kingfisher sat perched on a sycamore limb, searching for trout, a sure sign that the river was running clear.

Claire tied the loose end of the lead rope to my halter. “Scoot back,” she bossed Trevor. “I’m hopping up there with you. I like being up high when I come up to the river.”

Trevor slid back all the way to my tail to give Claire enough room. She grabbed my mane and hoisted herself up. Trevor moved forward and held Claire’s waist.

“Will you sing that song for us the rest of the way?” Claire pleaded with Trevor.

“Claire, stop making me sing. I just want to sit here on Chancey.”

“But your song is the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard and besides, Chancey likes it.”

Trevor laughed at Claire, and began his song anyway. Just as the undergrowth of saplings gave way to tall, thick grass, the Maury River appeared. Claire let me stop and graze while Trevor finished his song. The wind from the river kept most of the flies away from me. The shade from the birch, leaning out far beyond the bank, protected my eyes from the sun.

“Have you ever been swimming with a horse?” Claire asked Trevor.

“You’re such a show-off, Claire. You know I’ve never been swimming with a horse. You’ve been with me every time I’ve ever been on a horse,” Trevor teased.

“Okay, I was just asking,” Claire said, pretending to be hurt. She thought for a moment, then rephrased her question to him. “Trev, what I meant was, do you want to go swimming with Chancey and me, right now?”

“Sure,” Trevor answered. “If you think it’s safe.”

“Geez, Trevor. Stop being such a fraidycat. Hold on.”

Both children slipped off their socks and shoes. Claire squeezed her legs and gave me a little kick. Claire clucked to encourage me, but it was an entirely unnecessary aid. I, too, wanted to swim. I walked slowly into the water, allowing plenty of time for my legs, and the children’s, to adjust. Claire and Trevor both sucked in their breath the moment the river slapped their legs. I waded slowly out to my neck; Claire stood on my back and dove into the river. Trevor did not need coaxing from Claire to do the same.

The river was slow and seemed ready to fall asleep as we three splashed the afternoon away. We stayed in the water together until the breeze blowing off it became too cold for Claire. She started to shiver, and not liking to be cold, tied my lead rope back into reins. I carried the two of them back to the barn. For what was left of the summer, this became our habit. Trevor would arrive for his lesson with Claire, and we would end our time together with a trail ride to the Maury River.

Once summer turned to fall, Trevor was ready for a greater challenge — taking me on the trail without Claire at the head. Claire would accompany us on Mac; her goal was to simulate the conditions of the hunter pace that would occur at the Ridgemore Hunt in Rockbridge County at the end of November. Though I had hoped I would be paired with Claire for the Ridgemore Hunt, I considered it an honor and a privilege to carry Trevor.