“She’s too good a horse to be treated this way,” the trainer said.
My daughter reached over and stroked the dirty coat of the mare. “You need a bath, don’t you, girl?” Kimberly loved animals—horses in particular, especially mistreated and abused horses. It was as if her purpose in life was to nurse every wounded bunny, abused cat, or mistreated puppy. Animals were more soulmates to her than her schoolmates were.
Earlier that day, my husband and I hoped a nice drive in the country might loosen the lips of our teenager. That she’d confide in us regarding the new friends she made this freshman year at Oxford High. One parent during registration whispered that many of the kids attending Oxford High School thought bullying classmates was a fun pastime. Kim hadn’t mentioned any ill behavior.
But only silence emerged from the back seat.
The older my daughter became, the less she wanted to say. Was this the norm for a teenager these days? We felt like something was wrong. But asking, demanding, or probing never worked.
“We should be at the horse farm soon,” I said.
Kim remained mummified.
She never was the outgoing type. Still, I didn’t remember her ever being this quiet. She’d attended Christian schools until now, and though she didn’t talk much about it, I knew the transition into a public high school must be challenging. Kim, however, had been excited to go—so what happened?
Then one afternoon she jumped off the bus and ran up the driveway. “Mom, Oxford High’s equestrian team needs a saddle seat rider. I can do this.” The sudden smile on her face, the bounce in her step—I jumped at the challenge of finding the perfect horse for her in hopes this would make her four years in high school easier to endure.
Now, as we drove down a blacktopped road, the scenery changed. A horse farm came into view. The spacious arena and barns sat majestically on a grassy hillside. White fences bordered a broad curving driveway. I felt confident our search may be over.
Edward, my husband, slowed down as the driveway came into view. To the left of a dirt drive stood about ten or more horses, some with protruding bellies, heavy in foal. Their paddock was nothing but mud. The horses’ legs and underbellies were caked with it. Their matted manes and tails gave witness to their ill-kept condition, that they hadn’t been groomed for months if not years.
One flea-bitten gray mare captured my attention. Her large black eyes looked into mine for a split second. I muttered, “Girl, if I could rescue you, I would.”
We entered the stable’s office. The owner of the establishment told a girl who looked to be around twelve to get Mystique. After a short while, amazement rippled through my body when the horse I had seen in the muddy paddock walked before us, being ridden bareback with only a halter by the young girl. Kim and I followed them to the grooming stall. My husband, Edward, followed the owner toward the arena.
Kim was a good cross-country equestrian, mostly due to the foxhunting club we rode in. But the Oxford equestrian team was full up on hunt seat riders. Kim needed to do saddle seat. That’s where they needed her. I had to find a horse who knew her stuff, so to speak, to help with this dilemma. Kim’s fingers tapped nervously on the half-wooden railing of the stall.
I patted my daughter on the shoulder and said to the trainer grooming this mare, “I don’t understand. Are you sure you don’t have the wrong horse? This is the show horse the owner sold for ten thousand dollars four years ago?”
“Yes.” The trainer nodded. “The owner entered Mystique when she was three years old into the state finals. Mystique won the saddle seat competition and at the Michigan Arabian Horse Show. A man bought her the next day. Then the bottom fell out of Michigan’s auto plants, and the purchaser pleaded with my boss to take her back.” He shrugged. “The owner gave the man back his money and decided to breed Mystique. She’s had three foals since then.”
Mystique lowered her head. Her mane was so tangled and matted I wondered at the trainer’s patience in untangling the matted mess. “Why doesn’t the owner take better care of her broodmares? The stallions have a comfy stall.”
“That’s the way things are in most barns what with the present economy.” He patted her affectionally. “Four years ago, she had a big stall, was groomed every day. You should have seen her in her show days, all shiny. Her mane was silky to the touch and her coat glistened with vitality.”
“Right,” Kim said. “Four years can seem like an eternity if you do nothing meaningful—no one even knowing you exist.” I watched as she hung her head and walked into the arena. I glanced back at Mystique before leaving the grooming stall. I couldn’t imagine this horse ever well-kept, admired, or needed for her performance skills.
I had shown saddle seat a few times. I preferred riding the wide-open spaces to going around and around in a show ring. I was as green as a grasshopper on how to prepare my daughter for her new venue. As I walked into the arena, my conscience reminded me that I promised to rescue this horse if there was any way possible.
Could Mystique possibly be the right horse for my daughter? The horse was a has-been. Probably didn’t even have enough energy to canter, let alone gallop. And there was no way my husband would pay anything close to what Mystique’s owner wanted—not now.
The owner smiled pleasantly at me. She was a petite blond, with a fair complexion and large blue eyes. “The trainer will tack Mystique up,” she said. “Probably put on the harness first. She hasn’t had a saddle on her back for a while.”
“My daughter’s a good rider,” Edward said. “She’s got a nice cross-country gelding, Baja, but he doesn’t like arenas. We were looking for a trained saddle seat horse at a reasonable price. I don’t see—”
“Mystique is a proven show horse,” the owner interrupted.
The trainer walked out with Mystique saddled and wearing a training harness. He pulled the apparatus tighter, forcing Mystique to arch her neck in a dramatic pose. Then he took the lunging whip and, with the draw reins attached to the training harness, lunged her in circles.
Edward crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “I never saw a horse arch its neck so dramatically like that before. Does it hurt her?”
“Not in the least,” the owner said. “She’s used to this. The trainer is getting her to the spot she was before we used her for a broodmare.”
Mystique didn’t complain. She obeyed every command and displayed a willing disposition. The temperament of a horse is the most important asset to me. I glanced at my daughter, who appeared excited yet somewhat apprehensive. She probably felt a little out of her league, as did we all.
“Okay, who wants to ride her first?” the owner said.
“I will.” I placed my foot into the iron and swung into the saddle, then gathered the reins. She was a little shorter than my mare. The trainer showed me the way to handle the draw reins. I had two reins in each hand. I coaxed her forward. Mystique’s head was bowed so drastically I asked the trainer, “Am I holding the reins too tightly?”
“Nope, they’re fine.”
Well, the first thing that would go were those fancy draw reins. Mystique had the springiest trot I ever rode. I sure missed my comfy hunt saddle with my nice knee rolls. I put her back to a walk and then gave her the canter cue. She went into that smoothly. The mare knew her gaits well.
“Mom?” Kimberly stepped forward. Eagerness swelled like sunshine through her jubilant grin. Was it only for the horse or was it partly due to a newfound hope—being appreciated and needed by students and faculty?
Kimberly mounted Mystique and picked up the reins like a trooper. Obeying every command, Mystique assuredly noticed this was a young stranger on her back. My daughter maneuvered her legs and seat in the unaccustomed style of the flat seat saddle much better than I had. I chuckled. Kim’s seat improved with every stride of Mystique’s bouncy trot. They appeared to understand each other. Coming around the third time, they had become one fluid pair. A kinship had blossomed before my eyes in that split second, and somehow I knew in my heart it would endure.
“Kim’s going to need some saddle seat lessons on Mystique,” my husband commented.
The owner nodded. “Yes, I include three lessons with every purchase of one of my horses.”
“Well, we need to negotiate on the price.”
I prayed. My husband loved to bicker prices, but I had a hunch the owner wasn’t so keen about that.
The owner chuckled. “Your daughter is a good rider, and I can tell that Mystique likes her. I can go lower on the price. Would you like me to throw in a breeding to sweeten the sale?”
Edward had looked the stallions over while Kim and I were with Mystique. “What do you say, Cathy, you want Mystique?”
Mystique’s ears pricked forward, her eyes alert and focused, as were my daughter’s—on me. They deserved this chance. And I’d be keeping my word.
I stroked Mystique’s head and murmured, “You can rescue each other.”
Kimberly leaned over and hugged Mystique’s neck. She swung down off the saddle and gave Mystique another hug. “We’ve got a chance, girl.”