Not surprisingly, he simply veered round me.
Yet he didn’t barge up the altar steps, as I’d feared, but turned left and cantered along the front of the pews.
The tile floor was slippery and he was going at speed. His front hooves skidded out from under him and he crashed down on his knees as the congregation gave a collective gasp.
I hope he hasn’t hurt himself! I thought, simultaneously realizing, Ha, you beggar! I’ve got you! My heart gave a victory leap and I rushed over to grab his halter while he was scrambling back up.
The congregation gave a cheer.
But unfortunately the leather headpiece was broken. It must have come apart when he jumped out of the trailer. (And I very much wanted to know how that had happened…) As I grasped it, the whole thing came off his face.
Darn it! (Though under extreme pressure I recalled I was in church, and didn’t swear as I would have liked, even in my head.)
Free once more, Firecross took off at a smart trot down the side of the church.
This alarmed the parishioners who’d expected the whole fiasco to be over by now, and a ‘you’ll never guess what happened in church this morning!’ story to recount over brunch with the non-Catholic members of the family.
Instead, life was becoming dangerous and they wanted to get out of the church post haste. But, unsure how to accomplish this, they stood frozen in their pews.
Meanwhile, I was pleading with God not to let Firecross hit any of the saints’ statues lined against the wall as he clattered past. I’d spent many hours praying to those holy people, and they’d not root for me any longer if my horse knocked them off their pedestals.
The beastly horse slowed down as he approached the back of the church, while I was forming a plan.
If the four ushers at the back of the church opened the main doors, they could let him out into the parking lot where he couldn’t desecrate God’s House any longer.
I signaled to the men, who were standing with Father Frank by the baptismal font. With relief I saw one of them give a knowing nod to the others. But they’d misunderstood me: they thought I was asking them to catch Firecross and suddenly converged on my gelding.
Frustration made me want to scream, but this would only frighten my horse and make matters worse. (Although how much worse could they get?) I ran as fast as I could down the central aisle, planning to reach the back doors and open them myself, while Firecross’s attention was on the ushers.
But before I could get there, my horse swerved and prepared to turn back up the center of the church towards the altar.
Oh no! This time he’d probably trot up those three stairs and poop in front of everyone. The humiliation was going to be awful!