FIVE-YEAR-OLD RICHIE SLAMMED HIS BOOT HEELS into the pony’s sides but got little results for his efforts. The Shetland had a will as stubborn as his master’s.
Anna clucked to her gelding and rode up beside the boy. “Richie, honey, try to relax a little. This is supposed to be fun.”
“But he won’t go faster!” His voice rose in a whine. “I wanna go faster!”
The boy’s petulance had more to do with the somber mood in the ranch house the last few days than his pony’s lack of obedience. Violet had learned from the doctors, following a recent miscarriage, that it was unlikely she would be able to conceive again. The news had left Richie’s parents heartbroken.
“Tell you what,” Anna said. “You can ride with me on Champ. He likes to run.”
“Yes. This once.” She knew Abe wanted the boy to learn to ride his own pony rather than doubling up with adults, the way he’d been doing since he was six months old. But if it would keep Richie out from under foot in the house for a while, she thought Abe would approve. “Come on. Let’s put your pony up.”
A quarter of an hour later, Champ cantered away from the barn, Anna in the saddle, Richie right behind her, arms tight around her waist.
At the beginning of June, the grass in the fields was belly high in some places and a lush shade of green. Wildflowers were in abundance, too, splashing the valley floor and hillsides with yellow and pink, lavender and blue. White-faced cattle grazed in clusters, their calves cavorting nearby.
Eventually Anna slowed the gelding to a walk and guided him along a deer track into the forest. They climbed steadily up the mountainside, going higher and higher. “Think we can go high enough to touch the sky, Richie?”
“Nah. Can’t never touch the sky, Anna.”
“Are you sure? Well, that’s too bad.” She patted his hands with one of her own. “It would be fun to try. Guess we’ll do that another time.”
They rode in silence for another half an hour before the trail they followed burst through the trees and rose up to a rocky plateau. From there they could see the entire valley. They weren’t touching the sky, true enough, but they were gazing upon something beautiful all the same.
She wished she could paint like Miles. Perhaps then she could capture on canvas the splendor of this country. Perhaps she could show others how deep her love of this land had burrowed into her heart.
She wished she had some talent with words, but she wasn’t a writer. How did one go about describing all she could see with her eyes? What was that shade of blue overhead? What exactly was that scent on the breeze? Were there words adequate enough for any of it? Perhaps not.
Anna twisted around and took Richie by his upper arms, then lowered him to the ground. As the young boy stepped away from the horse, Anna dismounted and followed after him. They stopped a few steps back from the edge of the rocky outcropping. Richie reached up and slipped his small right hand into her left. She closed her fingers around his and squeezed tight.
In that moment the future blossomed in her heart. Her tomorrows spilled before her imagination. Life and death. Joy and sorrow. Laughter and tears. A life lived to the fullest.
“I promise, Lord,” she whispered, lifting her gaze. “I promise to live life abundantly.”