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I watched the Serbs board the Lady of the Lake to be sure they left, then I returned. The sound of children’s laughter drew me away from my first electrical job of the afternoon toward the horse corral. Little kids mounted on horses rode in a circle inside the corral. The joy in the air was unmistakable, and it drifted and wrapped itself around my heart—the unadulterated bliss of children. For a few moments, I stood frozen, overcome with the emotion, overcome by the innocence of children.
Off to the side was the young man who had taken Brady’s place. Olivia had mentioned his arrival, but I’d never met him. What was the guy’s name? He stood on the far side of the corral next to four horses, saddled up and waiting patiently. He watched the horse parade with a benevolent expression, like a doting father watching his child experience some wonderful aspect of life for the first time. I wandered over.
“I don’t think we’ve met. Luka Novak.” I held out my hand.
The young man pulled his gaze away from the corral. “Ryder Yates.”
“You are Brady’s son? Yes?”
“Yes.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Good. He’s on the mend.”
I put a foot up on the rail fence and concentrated on the horse show. When Kathy had told me the Serbs were at the Ranch, I didn’t know how I managed to keep my emotions from showing, but somehow Kathy had kept chatting away and fiddling with paperwork while I had struggled to breathe. I thought I could leave all that behind by coming to this wilderness place thousands of miles away from home, but no, they followed me.
It's not that I didn’t know good Serbian people. In fact, one of my best friends had been Serb, a kayak racer.
I met Rad Simic on the river. Where else? Rad was born and raised in Zemun, the suburb of Belgrade where I had won my first big race when I was seventeen. A couple years younger than me he was close to my height, about six feet, Rad’s athletic physique combined with his dark, curly hair and a surprisingly shy nature to make him attractive to the girls.
On the water, Rad was tough to beat.
Rad and Nik quickly became two of the most important guys in my life. When Yugoslavia began to fall apart, we became media darlings. We were famous enough, with our collective careers, to be well-known throughout Yugoslavia. “Look,” they said on the news, a Serb, a Bosnian Muslim, and a Croat are best friends. We can all stay together and get along, like these three athletes.”
When I returned to racing after my obligatory year in the army, a dismal time I would rather forget, one of the first races that pitted me against Rad was the Yugoslav National Championships. Lining up with an athlete of Rad’s stature was electrifying. Rad was everything I wanted to be as an athlete. The moment we took off, Rad shot ahead of the pack. I pushed to stay as close to him as I could, but I couldn’t keep up no matter how hard I tried.
Every competition after that, I trailed close behind Rad, always second, always looking at his back. The gap between us began to haunt me. I knew if I worked out just a little harder, concentrated more during competition, I could close that gap. My goal became to beat Rad.
I was named to the Yugoslav National Kayak and Canoe Team in 1983. Both Rad and Nik were already on the National Team, and we began to train together, race one another, and quickly became friends.
But here in Stehekin, standing at the corral, watching innocent children on gentle horses pushed all that history into the dark past, where it belonged. The ambition that I had in those days, the sheer drive and competitive spirit had been bruised and battered in the years that followed. The war years. The scene before me was why I had come to this remote and beautiful place, to be renewed by the laughter of children on horseback far away from the ugliness I had seen. Their laughter began the healing of a wound deep inside.
I followed Ryder’s gaze to the young woman, tall and blond, standing in the center of the corral directing the children, smiling like the sun itself.
“You like the girl?” I asked him. “I met her and the short one when they arrived. What is her name?”
Ryder turned to look at me. “Ingrid,” he said.
“Ah yes, Ingrid. A Nordic girl. And her friend, the short one?”
“Greta,” Ryder muttered.
“You like Ingrid?”
Ryder continued to stare at me, then finally answered. “She’s very young.”
“Ah,” I nodded. “Yes.”
“Your job here is?” Ryder asked.
“Kayak tour guide in the morning, electrician in the afternoon.”
“By your accent, I take it you’re not from around here.”
“No. I am from Croatia.”
“Wow, really. How’d you end up here?”
“I met West, the son of the Ranch owner, at a kayak race in Denmark and he invited me.”
For the first time Ryder seemed to truly pay full attention. “Maybe one of these days we can get a beer at the landing. I’m interested in hearing more.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Great. Well, I better get these horses taken care of. Nice to meet you, Luka.”
“I had horses as a boy. I can help you if you like.”
“I don’t want to intrude on your time. You probably have work to do.”
I glanced at the corral full of laughing children. “It would give me great pleasure to help with the horses.”
Ryder nodded, and the two of us began to unsaddle the horses.
