The Eighty-Dollar Champion - Elizabeth Letts [8]
His touch in the saddle was light; he held himself carefully balanced. The horse danced a jig, first to one side, then the other. Harry waited, poised. The initial few moments were always the hardest.
Snowy’s back felt tense underneath him. Uncertain. Harry settled his seat bones deeper into the saddle. He clucked, using the command that he had taught the horse meant “go forward.” The gray’s ear flicked back, listening.
Harry and Snowman out riding. Snowman proved to be a quiet and steady mount. (illustration credits 2.2)
After a moment’s hesitation, Harry felt Snowman’s back relax, accepting his presence. He nudged with his heels and the horse started off at a plodding walk, apparently already resigned to bearing another load. Harry responded with an immediate signal of trust. He let the reins slide out between his fingers, almost all the way to the buckle that joined the two pieces. If the gelding startled and took off now, Harry would have no way to stop him. Snowman responded to that trust by stretching his neck out, lowering his head. Harry gave him a pat on the shoulder and spoke a word of praise, and one of Snowy’s well-formed ears flicked back again.
Harry relaxed into the saddle. His slaughterhouse reject would make a good pleasure horse for someone—maybe one of his timid riders at the Knox School. Snowman was a nice big horse with a broad back. He could easily carry one of the bigger girls.
Over the next few weeks, as Harry rode Snowman in the ring and around the countryside, the horse proved steady and sure-footed. His preferred pace was the walk, and he had to be coaxed even into a dull trot. Snowman was like an old teddy bear. As he continued to fatten up, filling out his ribs and bony haunches, his soft, broad back was perfect for a child to climb on bareback.
Every morning, as soon as Harry came out to the barn, Snowman blasted out three loud whinnies. Always exactly three. Harry had to chuckle—on the old chicken farm, Snowy had taken on the role of family rooster.
After three weeks, the last of the manure stains had faded from his coat and a nice speckled pattern had emerged. His mane had been detangled and pulled to a reasonable length. His tail was silky. Harry thought he looked respectable enough to fit in at the stable at the Knox School. As a trial, Harry put one of his own kids up on the horse’s back. The gray plodded gently around the ring, the rein out to the buckle while Harry walked alongside.
With so little money to spend on horses, Harry tended to get hotheads that were touchy and difficult to handle, racetrack refugees and skittish beauties that needed a calming hand. But the big gray horse was more like an old mutt. Harry thought about keeping Snowman around for his kids, but he had paid good money for this horse, and now Snowy needed to start earning his keep.
By the beginning of March, Harry knew the horse was ready to move to the school. He was as nervous as a proud father taking his son to football practice. He wanted Snowman to make a good first impression.
3
Land of Clover
St. James, Long Island, 1956
Clean, trimmed, and with his mane and tail glossy, Snowman may not have looked quite like a gentleman, but at least now he resembled a presentable tradesman. His wounds had healed, his ribs had filled out, and his coat glowed from constant currying.
Harry hacked the five miles from the de Leyer farm down to the school, guiding Snowy at a pleasant pace across open fields and skirting the Ryan estate, enjoying the gray’s steady manner in open country. The land around St. James was hilly and wooded. Up near Harry’s farm, there were other small farms and modest houses, many of them owned by immigrants. He passed the St. James General Store, an old wooden building that sold candy and sundries. As the trails led closer to the water, the atmosphere changed. Here, big stone