“Maybe, Mr. Charles, it is time,” he said solemnly. “If you don’t get back on, you have too much time to think about it. You know, the fall, the pain. Your mind builds up this fear. It can make you crazy. And the longer you wait, the more afraid you become. It is . . .” He paused, struggling for the word. “Es irracional, eh?”
“Not irrational,” Charles replied soberly. “The fear is very real. I’ve been seeing a psychologist. We are trying to desensitize me. Working with the horses every day, being near them, feeding them. This helps me see them—and their size—as approachable.”
“How’s that working for you?”
He raised his shoulders briefly. “Pretty good, up to a point. I’ve gotten so I can get up on the mounting block. But then . . .” He shook his head. “Perhaps it’s the fear of getting hurt again. Of not being able to walk again.” He paused. “I stop.” He looked at Whirlwind who stood relaxed, his rear left hoof cocked as the orange tabby wound around his legs. “When I met Whirlwind, something changed. I think you might understand when I tell you that the horse chose me. Not the other way around.”
When Angel nodded, Charles continued in a contemplative tone. “Do you understand what we mean in English when we say we gentle a horse?”
“When you work with a wild horse to tame it.”
“That’s part of it. Back in the day, they said a wild horse had to be broke, meaning to get him trained to do work. Usually quickly. Sometimes brutally. I suspect broke is the right term. We broke their spirit. Today, there’s no need to break them by rough handling. With time and training we’ve learned a wild horse will become responsive. But that term still hangs around to mean a horse that can be ridden or driven. One that’s under control.” He rubbed his jaw in thought and looked again at Whirlwind.
“I don’t much care for that term. Don’t like the connotation. I prefer to say a horse is finished. Gives the horse more respect, don’t you agree? Words are a powerful tool.” He shook his head. “Anyway, when a horse is trained, we try to keep the horse from getting its flight-or-fight instinct worked up. To help keep the emotions under control. To trust. To feel safe.”
He looked at Angel. “What I’m trying to explain is, you might say Whirlwind tamed me, or rather, my fears.” He reached up to pat the long, black neck. “This big, splashy galumph of an animal has the gentlest spirit. He might be that one special horse. The once-in-a-lifetime horse that Gerta talks about. My soul mate.”
Angel witnessed the bond between them and understood Charles’s meaning. That bond would be the tool that allowed Charles to get back on a horse. He left one thing out, though: leadership. Horses were herd animals and instinctively needed a leader. Whirlwind felt safe with Charles, as well. A bond went both ways. And Charles was, quietly and effectively, a leader.
“If he is your soul mate,” Angel said, “do you think, then, that you could get on Whirlwind?”
This gave Charles pause. His gaze swept over the horse. Angel saw the deep lines coursing through his tanned face. They spoke of a rich and full life. One that had seen its fair share of trials. Every professional rider could talk of their falls the way a veteran soldier went on about old war injuries or women prevailed upon listeners the aches and pains of labor. But Mr. Charles Phillips had experienced more injuries than his share.
“I just might,” Charles replied thoughtfully.
“Then let’s do it.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes, now. No time like the present, eh? Why wait another minute?”
“The storm is one good reason.”
“Excuses. You told me midnight.” Angel checked his watch. “It’s only after ten. We have much time. What do you say? I’ll help you. Come on, Mr. Charles. Don’t put it off. Carpe diem.”
“Yes,” Charles replied haltingly. Then, as though working himself up, he fisted his hands. “Let’s do this.”
Together they saddled Whirlwind, who appeared eager to step out of the stall. Charles flicked a switch and lights lit up the lower dressage arena. The wind was picking up, but it was not too bad. It was, Angel thought, rather exhilarating. Charles walked at a determined pace. As they reached the gate, however, Angel saw his hand closing and unclosing nervously around the lead. Angel began to worry if this was such a good idea, after all. He knew Charles’s anxiety was building. Angel thought to keep Charles talking would stop the panic from building up in his mind.
“You’re thinking of the accident, no?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Do you remember the day of your accident?” he called out.
“Of course.” He stopped walking. “I was in a show. Like so many others. It wasn’t even the highest jump.” He paused. “I didn’t see it coming. Selectro just bailed. Stopped short and over I went.”
“Was anything going on that day in your life? Were you thinking of something else? Maybe a fight with Grace?”
Charles walked a while, his helmeted head bent in thought. He then stopped again to look over his shoulder. “Actually,” he said, in a tone that implied he was having a revelation, “we were going to fly to Europe the next day. For another show. I remember arguing with her about the time push. We still had so much to do before we could leave.”
“There you are. Something was on your mind. You may have missed some cue from the horse. You may not have been focused on the jump. It happens.”
Charles didn’t reply. He turned and began walking again. They went through the gate and on to the interior of the dressage arena. Charles walked Whirlwind to a level area then stopped and stood silently a moment, staring at his boots.
“Mr. Charles? Are you okay?”
Charles looked up and his face was contemplative. “Actually, I was just remembering. I’ve never been angry at Selectro for the fall, because I believe he saved my life that day. If he hadn’t balked at the jump and I hadn’t fallen, the doctors wouldn’t have discovered I had a blood clot. Like I said, we were scheduled to fly back to Europe the next day. I might’ve broken my back, but if I’d gotten on that plane, I would’ve died. I’ve always felt in my gut that Selectro somehow knew I had a blood clot.”
Angel was deeply moved.
Charles took a deep breath. “One horse saved my life physically. And now, another is going to save me mentally.” He looked up at Whirlwind and stroked his neck. “Let’s do this.”
Angel carried the bright yellow mounting block close to Charles and set it before the horse, making sure it was settled solidly on the ground. He stepped aside, allowing Charles room to mount.
Charles stood on the block with one hand on the saddle and the other holding the reins. He paused, collecting his wits. When he felt ready he lifted his foot tentatively in the stirrup. Whirlwind shifted his weight. Charles immediately pulled his leg back in.
“It’s all right. He’ll wait for you,” Angel said encouragingly. “He loves you, right? You have nothing to fear. Think soul mate.”
“Right.”
He watched Charles take another breath and harness his focus. Angel mentally urged Charles on: Go . . . go . . . go . . . You can do it.