The Iron Horse: A Novel

By Dawn Erin

The Iron Horse is a vivid and darkly comic tale about a girl growing up in gritty working-class New England. Horse-crazy Sunny Quinn spends her childhood toiling long hours in relentless pursuit of entry into the elite world of competitive Saddleseat Equitation. Her weight, her lack of money, her crushing shyness and her tyrannical stepfather all contribute to Sunnys spectacular failure, with harrowing and far-reaching consequences.
The story takes the reader on a wild ride through the depths of addiction, crime, sacrifice and suffering set against the backdrop of scorching first love. Filled with memorable characters and encompassing the timely themes of determination and endurance, The Iron Horse is ultimately a story about the lies we tell ourselves, and the twisted road to redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463435622

Dawn Erin

Dawn Erin is an actress, writer, singer and avid equestrienne. She is a graduate of The American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City. She can be reached by email at [e-mail]. The Iron Horse is her first novel. She lives in Austin, Texas where she is “Momma” to many dogs and one American Saddlebred.

Book preview

Prologue

Sunny Quinn stared down at her own bloodless arms, spread before her on the hood of her shitbox car. She was coatless and freezing in the ashen February morning, the brittle steam of her breath snatched away by the biting wind. Her dirty corduroy jacket was the first thing the cops took when they yanked her out of the car.

Search it, one burly officer called as he tossed the coat to his partner. Then he went back to giving Sunny a hard time. Barely half his size, sick to her bones, and guilty as hellfire, she was hardly resisting arrest. Even still, he kicked her pale ankles apart yelling wider! wider! until he had her legs in a grotesque sprawl, and she prayed fiercely that none of her relatives would drive by. There was a swarm of cruisers gathering up and down the highway now, a rather impressive array representing several towns and the Massachusetts State Police. Their combined swirl of blue, red and yellow lights flickered rhythmically across the thick pine trees lining Route 495. Sunny focused her stare on the flashing colors while the cops gave her the pat down. The lights brought to mind the blue, red and yellow streamers of the championship ribbons at horseshows, and how the long strips of heavy embossed satin would fly and snap as the winner made a victory pass around the ring. How all-encompassing the earning of those ribbons had once been in Sunny’s world. How many lifetimes away they seemed now.

Suddenly she was yanked upright by the back of her t-shirt, and caught more than one of the officers noticing the frigid air’s effect on her nipples. Of all days to leave the house without a bra on and be forced to stand in front of a slew of guys who’d stripped her of her coat. Sunny caught herself noting that she should always be dressed to be arrested just to be on the safe side. It was a perfectly warranted line of thinking now. She did things every day that she should be busted for. The muffled squawk of police radios, the cold leather gloves gripping her arms, the umpteen variations of physical pain that raked her body at this moment, this was her reality, this was her story now.

This is not a story about a girl who loves horses.

She heard the words in her head just then, in Nana’s warm, smoky voice, clear as on the night they’d first been said. At that time Sunny had been eight years old, and they were about to watch the classic film National Velvet. Sunny was glued to the TV with the film about to start, and her ponytails went near-horizontal as she whipped around to face her grandmother. Whattaya mean it’s not about horses? I thought you said—Nana held up a silencing hand, her costume baubles glittering in the blue flicker of the television. Although she had chosen the film for Sunny mainly because of the horsey content, she also earnestly wanted her only granddaughter to understand the story’s greater message—the story being a 12-year-old Elizabeth Taylor as Velvet Brown, a rural English girl who wins a horse, dresses as a boy, and against all odds, fights her way to first place in the grueling Grand National Steeplechase Stake. She then faints at the finish line, is discovered and is promptly disqualified for being female.

But that brought Nana to the real message of the story; that being one of determination, triumph of spirit, belief in oneself, and above all, brutal endurance.

Listen to me, Lovebug, Nana had said. Endurance is the thing you need most in life. Endurance is the ability to be strong and keep on going, no matter what happens. Long as you got endurance then you’ll be alright.

At eight years old, Sunny’s mind snapped a picture: the grand image of Nana glistening in hot pink satin pajamas and gold slippers, perched on her immaculate plastic-covered sofa, intoning Life’s supreme requirement, Endurance. Sunny had always wondered why that particular night stuck in her mind. Perhaps it was because that night was the official start of her Horse Fever, and the end of childhood as she had known it. For whatever reason, it was this memory that came to her now as she was hurled, freezing and filthy into the back of a police cruiser.

This is not a story about a girl who loves horses.

PART ONE

"Horse.

Thou art truly a creature

without equal.

For thou fliest without wings

and conquerest without sword."

—The Koran

Chapter One

Sunny Quinn’s mother always said her trouble started when she quit the Barn. Sunny herself wasn’t so sure about that. It implied that she had been trim, tidy and well adjusted until the very moment she called her mother from a pay phone in Skowhegan, Maine and pleaded with her to come take her home. Mom would always remember the abject sobbing coming down the line that summer morning, and felt that her child had never recovered from that day. For Sunny though, it was hardly that simple.

Her life had revolved around horses from the epic night spent watching National Velvet at Nana’s house. She’d sat enthralled, a foot from the screen, watching an impossibly young Elizabeth Taylor take a deep whiff of a flowerbed at the Grand National racecourse and sigh "mmmm . . . . horses." Just like that, Sunny’s heart opened like the explosive clang of the starting gate and she was off and running. The begging for riding lessons began in earnest. There was a tugging in her tiny chest every time she thought about it. If she didn’t get to ride soon she determined the world would surely turn stale and worthless forever.

Her dream came to tenuous fruition the day her new stepdad arranged a trail ride at a local stable. He was just married to her mother and trying hard to get to know Sunny and her younger twin brothers. Sunny was excited about the ride, but apprehensive about going with her new "Dad"—as her mother had instructed her to call him. She sensed it was a display of some kind, had the feeling he’d rather be somewhere else, a place she would also rather be—with her Mommy. Dad’s smile seemed pushed from his face, the kindly pitch of his voice a little too shiny and perfect. Sunny’s vocabulary was limited, but her child’s instinct was unbound. She didn’t particularly like this man so far and wasn’t sure she wanted to get to know him. But for today, she decided he must really be her Dad because he was taking her to ride a horse for the first time, and nothing else mattered.

The ride was an hour-long excursion into the piney New England woods on horses who knew the trail by heart. It cost $20 per person, an exorbitant amount of money by Sunny’s estimation, and from that day on she associated horses with huge, unattainable piles of cash. Her instinct would prove to be right on the money.

Sunny spent the next year dreaming of riding again. But things changed a lot in a year. The open exchange she had always shared with her mother diminished. Sunny now came up against the jagged edges of her stepfather’s intimidating persona. He could be pleasant, cruel and aloof by turns and Sunny never knew which to expect. Violence often erupted from him under the stress being a newlywed at the age of 24, with an instant family to support. Sunny quickly learned to tiptoe around this frightening new presence. As for the horses, there wasn’t time or money to spend on riding lessons every week. Stepdad told her so on a regular basis when she asked, and later begged. But Sunny remembered Nana’s endurance lecture and she persisted.

When she asked again on a snow day out of school, her stepfather sighed and put down the stack of bills he was scowling at. Okay here, he said, holding out the phone book with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. Look up all the riding academies and call around to see what they charge for lessons. Then we’ll talk.

Sunny’s eyes grew wide but she carried the book over to her room and paged tentatively through it, looking for the H—for horses. Once she finally found her way to Riding Academies she looked over the dozen or so listings to contact. She mustered the gumption to call the first place on the list: Appledale Farm. No fancy ad, just a phone number. Sunny’s heart pounded in her ears when a crisp older woman’s voice answered. She inquired tentatively and was told that yes, they gave riding instruction, at ten dollars a lesson. She was also informed that her parents would have to call back for further information to set anything up. It was the only number she called.

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Self-employment was her new Dad’s goal in life and he got right to it, borrowing money from his own father in order to buy a small industrial catering company. It was a single big walk-in truck, white with red letters emblazoned on the side: Letano’s Lucky Lunchbox ~ On the Road Since 1939. Mr. Letano had been in business for forty greasy grueling years, and he gladly sold his life’s work to Sunny’s parents—the attractive young couple with three grubby, but smiling kids; the family just starting out together. Watching them drive away after signing the papers, Mr. Letano chewed thoughtfully at one of his calloused fingers. He pondered the wife, who had been so excited about being a business owner, and the young daughter, cautiously proud of her parents. Blindly trusting the men to handle the complexities of business from the start—as his own wife and children had, they would make ready slaves.

From that day, the truck and all its trappings was known simply as The Business and it took over the converted triple-decker Victorian house they purchased soon after. Dad built a dish-washing room in the basement with a giant stainless steel sink and an industrial meat slicer. They glinted in the dark of the cellar like something lying in wait. Sunny’s Mom made all the truck food in their kitchen, crawling from bed at 4 am to cook 20 pounds of hamburger, miles of Polish sausage and dozens of muffins.

Sunny was quickly put to work. The first day they got the Business running, stepdad handed her an old wooden milk crate covered with cobwebs from the bowels of the cellar. Take this out to the hose and wash it off, he told her. It was her first official chore and she set to it, tying on her official white apron, folded in half so it didn’t drag the ground. She brought the crate back to him three times before he was satisfied with the thoroughness of her work. Her apron was already filthy.

On Fridays she often walked to the ice cream stand around the corner with her week’s earnings. Take that apron off before you go! Stepdad barked at her.

Why? Sunny asked. She felt the apron made her look professional and tough, and had been excited to show it off to anyone who saw her.

Because there are child labor laws, Dad muttered. Sunny had no idea what this meant, and she begrudgingly stripped off the apron. As the months went by, she found ways to sneak out with the apron on for her trip to the ice cream stand. She was curious to know what would happen if someone saw her wearing it. To her disappointment, no one ever even commented.

Sunny’s mother was a meticulous list-maker, and Sunny came home from school every day to a written litany of urgent jobs from washing pans in the basement to doing a good deal of housework so her exhausted mother could get to bed early. Gradually an awareness crept into her mind that her young life was considerably less carefree than that of her friends. Hard work was the order of every day, and she was paid five dollars a week for the services of her young hands. When she complained she heard the words values, responsibility and character intoned. She dutifully looked these up in a dictionary to see what she was in for.

In her stepfather, Sunny found a competitor in all things. She vied constantly with him for the attention of her mother, and usually ended up feeling beaten. And no matter how hard she worked, there was no denying that Dad worked the hardest. Up at 3:30 every morning, he shoveled acres of snow from in front of the truck throughout the winter, ever-present cigarette clenched in his teeth. He spent the day driving the truck and churning out sandwiches with lightening speed while his wife worked in tandem serving coffee and donuts, soup and sodas and making change. In the evenings there were mountains of bookkeeping to be tended to with teeth clenched even harder as he went over the piles of bills and receipts. The repetition of each day’s workload lent a merciless rhythm to the household, an endless treadmill with no off switch.

In the Spring, after months of nail biting, Sunny had the good fortune to catch Dad on the right day. She gave him her best smile and asked once more if he would pleeeeeease call Appledale Farm and help her take riding lessons. To her surprise, he agreed.

Sunny watched as Dad called, and heard the same crisp voice answer. Dad spent twenty minutes nodding and mm-hmming while the woman on the other line commandeered the conversation. It was an odd occurrence. Dad was a man who took charge of every situation he found himself in, but he was impressed with whatever this woman had said and told Sunny that she could ride there.

You’ll have to pay for your own lessons if you really want to do it, he added firmly. They would find plenty of chores for her so she could earn the ten bucks every week. Sunny didn’t care about the work. She was too busy wondering about the mystery woman who ran her new barn.

Appledale nestled in the rolling hills of North Andover, Massachusetts, a few minutes away from Sunny’s home in Lawrence. Though it was only across the river, it was a world away, as different as pewter and charcoal. Lawrence was gritty, an small mill city long past its heyday, with a hefty share of crime. North Andover was a lush, lovely place, full of quiet money. There were farms and orchards there, and quaint old New England farmsteads on rambling acres that housed generations of people who had never in their lives crossed the river into Lawrence.

Tucked into a corner of this was Appledale Farm, or, as everyone who knew Sunny came to call it: the Barn. It was a small, private stable. One barn, one riding ring, one sturdy old home that housed the Dixons—Harry and Elizabeth—the staunch New Englanders that owned the place.

The term riding instructor did not apply to Elizabeth Dixon. She had done nothing but train horses and the proper young ladies who rode them since the 1950’s. Thin-lipped and pale, with short, no-nonsense gray hair, Elizabeth Dixon held herself with the grace and carriage of a perfectly trained rider. No one ever called her Liz.

The Dixons had two children, and Appledale had helped put them both through college. Harry was still handsome with his bristly white hair and lively grin. He had worked as a supervisor for the electric company for thirty years. Over the course of time he’d become an excellent trainer in his own right and, after securing his early retirement with the hefty sale of Appledale’s back acreage to developers, he’d dedicated his time to the farm and its upkeep.

They trained American Saddlebred horses. The breed was termed America’s Horse—Elizabeth informed Sunny at her first lesson—because it was the first breed of horse developed in the New World. It was created by Southern plantation owners who wanted a graceful, smooth-gaited mount on whom they could supervise their vast fields. Through the centuries the Saddlebred became a popular show horse with an international following. And that’s how today’s Saddleseat horse show circuit came about, Elizabeth finished the rather lengthy lecture.

Sunny would learn on her own that Saddlebreds are the supermodels of the horse world: high maintenance, high strung and drop dead gorgeous. And very expensive. Year after year the Dixons took malleable, horse-crazy young girls and turned them into sleek, professional competitors. Young ladies who succeeded in the world of Saddleseat Equitation were self-assured, long-legged and willow thin; wrapped securely in their family’s money—which allowed them to indulge this fancy in the first place. Sunny Quinn could not have been less qualified. Not only was she short but like the other women in her family she tended to carry a few extra pounds on her lower half. It was weight that no one would ever notice. No one in the real world anyway. But the world of competitive Equitation would hold a well-polished magnifying glass to those sturdy peasant thighs and shake its dignified head with disdain.

In Saddle Seat Equitation classes, the rider’s poise and skill are judged ahead of their mount, as opposed to adult competition where the horse is the focal point. One could ride Equitation until the age of eighteen and there were many levels of competition from local and regional shows all the way up to the World’s Championship Horse Show at the Kentucky State Fair. For Equitation riders the finale of each season was the Saddleseat Triple Crown; three national competitions know on the inside as The Good Hands, The Medal, and The Challenge Cup.

These lofty titles with their shiny trophies and long colorful championship ribbons came to swim in Sunny’s mind like distant, unreachable constellations. Her world was quickly defined by the four walls of the Barn. She lived for her lesson on Saturday mornings and spent the rest of the week doing deep knee bends to strengthen her legs and scrubbing pans for the money to ride. The stainless steel scrubber she used chewed her nails down to ragged nubs, and her hands turned red and pulpy in the steaming water. But she scrubbed furiously, burning with the fervor of a recent convert. The fierce beauty of the American Saddlebred had hooked her absolutely.

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Sunny came home from school one day to find that her Mom had a surprise. They all gathered around the dinner table for the announcement.

We’re going to have a new baby! Mom said in a happy sing-song voice, beaming at her young husband. Sunny’s little brothers giggled with excited approval. Sunny forced a smile. A baby meant one thing to her: yet another newcomer with whom to share her mother.

Two days after Sunny’s eleventh birthday, a son, named after his father and universally known as Buddy, arrived by C-section. He had a full head of silver hair and eyes like sapphires. Sunny fell in love with him in spite of herself. She helped out a lot with her new baby brother, often putting the baby to bed after her exhausted parents had already turned in. She got in the habit of dancing the little one to sleep, playing the stereo in the dark living room and bouncing and swaying him to the music, Buddy’s chubby heft galvanizing the muscles in Sunny’s little arms.

Everything seemed to be expanding at the time, the size of the family, the amount of money coming in, and with it all, Sunny’s responsibilities. The Business demanded a slavish amount of work but over time it began to pay off, just as Dad had promised. He was a short man, not much taller than Mom, and like all runts he’d learned excessive toughness as a means of survival. He was impossible to intimidate, and not above using threats and physical bullying to take routes from other industrial catering companies. As a result, Letano’s Lucky Lunchbox became the number one rolling kitchen in the city.

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It quickly became clear to Harry and Elizabeth Dixon that young Sunshine was not just a starry-eyed Saturday afternoon hobbyist. On the ground she was bashful and introverted, obviously more at ease with animals than with people, and she possessed a quiet internal nature to which the horses seemed drawn. But once she swung into the saddle, a self-assured, aggressive inner strength emerged.

She really has the touch, Harry said simply.

If she’d just lose ten or fifteen pounds I’d love to put her in the maiden class next spring on one of the Jarreck’s older horses, Elizabeth mused aloud one day while fixing Harry a sandwich. Her parents own their own business as far as I know. It wouldn’t cost all that much to lease a horse for the summer. I don’t see why they don’t chip in and help her.

Sunny spent much of her time wondering the same thing. There were several other girls her age that rode at Appledale. Their parents brought them to their lessons in shiny new cars with fat tires that crunched smugly on the gravel drive. They usually stayed to watch their daughters’ lessons from the screen house Harry had built beside the ring. When the girls progressed to a certain level, the Dixons went horse shopping with them, driving hours into Maine, Connecticut or New York state to look at prospective mounts.

Sunny’s parents had no time for such extravagances. Their sixteen hour days made sure of that. Making the Business grow was the overriding goal of their household and a spazzed out energy constantly hung in the air. Sunny wished she had a buck for every time her parents used the words stressed or frazzled. She’d have a World Champion equitation horse by now. When they weren’t slaving away, Sunny’s parents spent their little remaining time enjoying the fruits of their mighty labor. Mom was a sun-worshipper and spent her afternoons by the in-ground pool in the backyard, keeping one eye on the boys playing and baking her skin to brown perfection.

Sunny ended up enlisting her two grandmothers for rides to and from the barn. Though they had both lived in the same neighborhood for decades, they were as different as rhinestones and mahogany. Nana was flamboyant and glamorous with a stratospheric attitude toward life. If you’re gonna do something, do it all the way she often said, usually with a long menthol cigarette dangling from her bejeweled hand. She wore silk pantsuits and gold lame slippers and still had good legs, though the rest of her had gone to more applesque proportions. She did love her wine. In her fancy coiffed wigs she gave off an Elizabeth Taylor-like dazzle. When she stayed to watch Sunny ride, she drove her car right up to the gates of the ring instead of sitting in the dusty, unheated screen house.

Sunny’s maternal grandmother was more Kate Hepburn by contrast. She was a tough New England bird with flaming red hair which she religiously dyed once it started going gray. She rose at five a.m. every morning to go for a brisk walk, rain or shine to get the newspaper, and had always run her large household like a New Bedford whaling captain. As the first grandchild, Sunny called her Gram, but to everyone else she was universally known as Ma. She never smoked and rarely drank. To Sunny they seemed to balance each other out somehow, being polar opposites. She adored both Gram and Nana, and breathed many a grateful sigh of relief that they were both so reliable with rides to the Barn.

One of the rare times that Mom did stay to watch her ride, Sunny’s photographic mind clicked on an image as she trotted past. Her mother was heavily pregnant with Buddy, and feeling poorly enough in the late summer heat to finally slow down. She sat in the screen house crocheting a rainbow-colored onesie for the baby. She looked uncomfortable and weary and Sunny felt a stab of guilt for making her wait in the stuffy heat. But the image of her mother sitting there in the Appledale screen house locked in Sunny’s memory, a rare and precious sight.

A few times over the years Sunny had to beg a ride home off the Dixons. The first time this merry journey occurred, Elizabeth gasped in surprise as they drove down Sunny’s street. This is Lawrence? She exclaimed with genuine surprise. But there’s trees!

Sunny rolled her eyes and sank into the back seat.

There were trees, because they lived in a decent neighborhood. They lived in a decent neighborhood because Sunny’s stepdad’s one true talent in life was making money. It’s not forever, he had told his new wife over and over during their early poverty. And he was right. There was now a large anniversary diamond on Mom’s hand, a fur coat in the closet and a vintage Mercedes in the driveway. The house collected an excess of televisions, stereo equipment and electronic gadgets. There were plenty of big summer family parties around the pool, and eventually a bass fishing boat came to rest beside the Truck. The house went through changes of carpet and paint and the general wear and tear of a large family. There were camping trips and a family vacation in Disneyworld. There was enough money to remodel the cute Dutch flat apartment on the third floor of the house and Sunny helped her stepdad while he rewired the place, day-dreaming of living up here by herself one day, independent and free—and skinny.

Life usually pivoted around the family’s big oak table in the kitchen. In the morning it was laden with the truck food to be loaded up. In the evenings everyone gathered around it for supper, and after that it was the final resting place of the box of the day’s leftover Truck pastries, which Sunny often picked at like carrion throughout the night.

But despite all the toys and conveniences that bespoke of prosperity, and the daily piles of cash that collected in cardboard soda boxes behind the dead bolted door of her parents’ bedroom, there was no money for the lease of a Saddlebred. Sunny pleaded her case to both her parents repeatedly.

I told you, you can do anything you want as long as you pay for it yourself, Dad told her each time she broached the subject. It’s really not up to me, Sun, her Mom would always say, almost visibly squirming with discomfort. It was the answer Sunny came to expect. She accepted that she would not be taken seriously. She was also well aware that at twelve years old, she couldn’t wash enough pans to cover the cost of a show horse and all its trappings.

But, Dad, it would just be for the summer… . Her voice usually trailed off here, full of the shame she had learned when asking her stressed out parents for anything. A lease on a horse, plus the cost of showing could easily cost several thousand dollars a month. The desperation that pulled in Sunny’s chest was a constant humiliation.

You’re out of your mind, Dad scoffed, dismissing the subject with an offhanded laugh. It was the scoff that stung like a sucker punch.

You’re not worth spending money on.

Chapter Two

Sunny’s graduation from the eighth grade coincided with the high school graduation of one Casey Stone. Casey was a tall, big-boned girl who had grown up down the street from Appledale Farm, and though she had never harbored dreams of Equitation glory, she had spent her high school years cleaning stalls in exchange for free riding lessons, a very coveted position for any horse girl. Casey was now going off to Europe for the summer and then away to college. Time had come to pass the torch—and the pitchfork.

Sunny flung herself at the chance. But, too shy to approach Elizabeth herself, she enlisted her Mom to explain to the trainer that she was eager for experience far beyond the reach of her Saturday morning lessons.

Do you think she is up to doing that much work? Elizabeth asked in her usual blunt manner.

Mom saw her most recent list on the table, her daughter’s left-handed scrawl crossing off all the completed chores. Oh yes, she told Elizabeth. She’s definitely not afraid of hard work.

When the time came, Elizabeth was quite happy to satisfy Sunny’s ambitions. Being a stable groom was no easy task, and she certainly had no intention of shoveling all that horse shit herself.

The day Casey’s plane took off for Paris, Nana dropped Sunny off at the Barn at 7am.

Call me when you’re ready to be picked up, Lovebug, Nana called out the car window, her perfect false teeth framed by hot pink lips.

I will! Sunny hollered over her shoulder as she set off down the long driveway to the barn.

She opened the screen door in the quiet June morning and let it close with a happy creak. A chorus of hungry neighs rose to welcome her as she took a deep wiff of summer air.

Mmmmm, horses!

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The New England summer lazed along, humid and still. It’s so ‘close’ out today, Elizabeth often commented as she carried her mug of black coffee into the barn.

Sunny showed up long before her trainer made it outside and had all the horses fed and watered and started on cleaning stalls by the time Elizabeth appeared.

She is quite the little workhorse, Elizabeth told Harry over lunch one day at the Pewter Pot restaurant, their usual place. Has a real nice way with the animals too.

I think she’d make a good assistant trainer, Harry replied, savoring his corned beef sandwich.

"Harry, for god’s sake, she’s twelve years old."

I’m saying in the future. She’s been a good rider from the start. She’s one of those rare ones that has that certain look in her eye, you know? He wiped his mouth with his napkin. So let’s throw her up on some of the show horses and see what she can do.

Elizabeth nibbled her salad, her brow knitting in the expression of stubborn agreement familiar to her husband of thirty-one years.

You’re right, Harry, Harry mumbled to his plate.

Hhmph.

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While the other students had lessons, Sunny mucked out the stalls. She grew possessive of the pitchfork and wheelbarrow, gaining respect for the shear physical labor and its crude and dangerous tools. As the heat wore on she often stopped to breathe in the thick air, leaning her forehead against the pitchfork’s long wooden handle, wiping sweat from her eyebrows. Eventually the wood had a permanent sweat ring at eye level. She emptied the wheelbarrow onto the decades-old mountain of manure off the side of the hill behind the barn. The maneuver entailed running the wheelbarrow to the edge and flipping it up and sideways to get the shit to fly as far as possible.

At every opportunity, Sunny would stop to watch whoever was riding, her booted foot resting on the back of the pitchfork, analyzing each move and mistake. She tried to hear Elizabeth’s comments. But there was little time to stop and rest. Her trainer kept her busy with one task after another.

Grooming’s not an easy job, Sunshine. You’ll probably get sick of me telling you what to do, Elizabeth cautioned her early on. But it will teach you discipline and skill faster than any of my lesson kids. Sunny beamed shyly at the attention. She fancied Elizabeth a wise older aunt bestowing her with secret knowledge. She ached to do well for her.

The lesson horses used for equitation students were very well-trained, often older and more broken in, to accommodate kids and inexperienced riders. But in the other areas of competition, you could show a young, green horse, or one with too much fire in its belly to be put in Equitation. The Jarreck’s were Appledale’s best clients and owned several big money show horses, the favored hobby of their grown daughter Grace. She had shown Equitation, and with her slim figure and blond good looks she’d done quite well for herself, even placing in the top ten one year at the Good Hands finals at Madison Square Garden. Now she rode in adult competition on the other horses her parents owned. Grace was a creature of comfort though, and one summer day she decided it was just too hot to ride. Sunny’s number was up.

Alright, you have to get on fast, Elizabeth said holding the bridle of Billy, a young gelding. He was one of the Jarreck’s fine three-gaited horses. Billy was his barn name. The name on his papers was Wild Bill Hickcock. Three-gaited horses were also called walktrots though Sunny couldn’t figure out why because they showed at the walk, trot and canter—thus three gaited. She couldn’t figure out how to get on this particular walktrot either because the damn high-strung thing kept trying to take off before she could get her foot in the stirrup.

Here, let me give you a leg up, Harry said, grabbing her bent knee. On three.

Sunny hoped she wasn’t too heavy. On three she sprang up and onto the saddle and Billy took off at a rollicking trot.

Get your stirrups! Get your stirrups! Okay, steady on his mouth! Toes in toward his shoulders… . Good, good, hang on! Harry and Elizabeth both called to Sunny, turning in place to watch her circle the ring.

Sunny tried hard not to hang on the reins for balance. She had only ridden the lesson horses so far and they required a riding crop to get some real oomph out of them. They were reliable as Volvos. Young show horses were like helicopters by comparison and it took her several trips around the ring to gain control of Billy’s free-spirited antics and stay on the rail. He felt like a deity beneath her.

Lower your hands now and spread them wider apart, Elizabeth called, coffee cup stopped mid-sip. "Right there! Keep him right there! That’s very good, Sunny." She sounded more than a little surprised.

Harry whooped in approval, kicking dirt across Billy’s line of vision as he trotted past. It made the horse prick his ears up, a fine specimen of his breed.

Sunny pounded down the straightaway, holding a half ton of thunder and lightening in her fingertips. She felt a rush of joy and power so strong that it made her whole life previous to this moment seem insignificant. Billy’s head was nearly higher than her own, his long neck held in a tight, proud arch, the hooked tips of his ears nearly touching when they swiveled forward. Sunny’s heart thumped, her legs burning to stay in proper position and balance on the barrel-rocket body. When she glanced down she could clearly see his knees snapping up in the Saddlebred’s signature high-stepping gait. Walktrots’ manes were shaved clean off and Billy looked sharp and regimented as a Roman soldier, rolling his eyes and snorting. He seemed merrily aware of the novice on his back.

So how ya like ridin’ a show horse? Harry beamed from the center of the ring.

Sunny couldn’t answer. She just looked over at her trainers with the same wild-eyed glee as the animal beneath her.

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Over the next three years, Sunny developed into a formidable collection of skill and honed instinct. Elizabeth often found herself nodding and smiling as she coached her. The girl had the discipline and focus that reminded Mrs. Dixon of herself at that age; in love with Saddlebreds and devouring knowledge with the appetite of a longshoreman. Sunny usually ended up working a half dozen show horses a day, with Elizabeth always—and Harry sometimes—standing center ring giving advice and correcting mistakes. She was constantly learning new skills and tricks, all of which served her well. But the ability to relate to each animal individually, Sunny was lucky enough to come by naturally, and that did not go unnoticed by the Dixons.

When she graduated to warming up the horses at shows so Elizabeth could point out to the rider on the ground the things Sunny did, it was the ultimate compliment. It almost took the sting out of the fact that she had to get off the horse so the girl showing could take over. Sunny had still never been in the show ring and she was already in high school now with the clock ticking fast: two seasons left to ride Equitation.

On a warm blustery autumn afternoon, just after Sunny’s sixteenth birthday, she led the last horse in from the ring after a particularly good ride. She was sweaty and exhausted as the sun dipped behind the pines and she still had a long night of truck-work and homework ahead of her. Elizabeth held the horse’s bridle while Sunny pulled off the saddle and sponged him with sun-heated water from a plastic bucket.

Sunshine, Elizabeth said in her razor-sharp voice. She was fond of calling Sunny by her proper name. We never advertise… but if we did, we would list you as Assistant Trainer.

Sunny was taken aback and smiled. This was about as close to affection as you could get with Elizabeth. Had it not been such a breach of her trainer’s propriety, Sunny would have hugged her just then.

Elizabeth continued, her eagle eyes scanning the darkening woods as she spoke. Harry and I have decided to shop for a nice little show horse. In a few years my grandchildren will start showing. She turned her dark eyes on Sunny. But for now it could be something for you to show Equitation on.

Sunny fumbled the ties on the horse’s cooler. Shyness overcame her as she had a sudden, sharp awareness of the silence, and the heat that hung in the small space between her and Elizabeth. It was impossible to look her trainer in the eye just now. Out of insecurity, she bent down to move the bucket.

Wow, she said quietly, her stomach roiling like a thunderstorm. Thank you. She felt like she should curtsey, or kiss Elizabeth’s ring.

They are buying a freaking horse for ME!

Yes, well. Elizabeth removed the horse’s bridle and slipped a halter over its ears. We’re going to drive down to Rhode Island to look at something at auction next Tuesday. I wanted to tell you before we left. She looked Sunny up and down, her practiced eye taking measurements. We’ll need to find a suit for you to show in as well.

Chapter Three

The following Tuesday, Sunny paced the barn aisle in the early evening, chewing her already ragged nails and running to look out at the driveway at every sound. It was beginning to get cold outside with Autumn here to stay, but she shivered from nervous excitement rather than the temperature.

Oh God, please let them bring me a good horse, she murmured aloud, pressing her hands fervently together. She considered getting on her knees with this request, but decided to stay by the door where she could see. There was no denying that her time was running out for Equitation and she knew that circumstances being what they were, this was her only shot at the dream. After preparing for so long, to not get in the ring and win would be the supreme anti-climax. Win was the key word. For above all, Sunny was terrified of losing.

Dusk was firing pink and orange across the sky, when the big blue and black trailer finally pulled into the driveway. Sunny stepped outside the door, brisk evening air hitting her cheeks. She stood there, trying to look unconcerned. She sucked her stomach in as she always did in Elizabeth’s presence and tried to read her trainer’s expression. It was possible that maybe they hadn’t bought anything after all.

But Harry pulled the trailer right up in front of the barn door and, from inside, she heard a tentative whinny. A grin nearly split her face in half and she bounded up to the back of the rig to look.

Inside was a nine-year-old gelding named Top Cat. He had been born in Oregon while the owner’s kids were watching that particular cartoon show. He was big, over 16 hands at the withers. Sunny had feared they would buy something too small for her. He was a deep rusty bay with four black socks and a thick black mane. He backed quietly out of the trailer and surveyed his new surroundings before fixing his curious brown-eyed gaze on Sunny. She melted, instantly in love. She thought she might cry, but to show such emotion in front of Elizabeth would be too embarrassing. Instead, she offered the carrot she had kept in her coat pocket all day and he munched it calmly.

He’s a bay, Sunny smiled at Harry. Though Saddlebreds came in all varieties of color, bays were special, the redheads of the horse world, with burnished copper coats and black manes, tails and lower legs, black hooves.

His nickname is T. C. just like on the cartoon, Harry smiled paternally. He removed the horse’s blanket and stood him out for Sunny to see. He was a beautiful animal, a fine example of the Supreme Sultan bloodline which he carried.

You should see his tail when it’s down, Sunny, Harry went on. It drags three feet on the ground!

Wow! She grinned, shaking her head at the happy turn her luck was taking. As twilight set in, she leaned into the big gelding’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck, the ageless tableau of a girl and her horse.

Well, Elizabeth finally said. Let’s put him away and you can ride him tomorrow.

Sunny felt more satisfied than she could ever remember. She had stayed late just to find out if they’d bought anything, and the sight of this well-bred, inquisitive red gelding gave her a calm feeling. She slept well that night, blue ribbons and victory pass photos tumbling through her mind as she drifted off.

The next day, Sunny cross-tied the handsome bay in the aisle and went through her well-practiced ritual of grooming and tacking up. A single thought pounded through her mind all the while: this is MY horse!

We’ll have to take his mane off when you start showing, Elizabeth observed as she led him into the ring and Sunny’s hearted flipped with glee.

If you ride Saddleseat equitation on a horse with a mane, it denotes that it is a pleasure horse, as opposed to a show horse. Saddlebred equitation horses with their manes shaved like walk trots are considered show horses, and have a healthy dose of flash. A top rider would never show a pleasure horse. The fact that Elizabeth thought TC warranted a shaved mane gave Sunny confidence. She couldn’t wait to feel the rush of his prancing legs beneath her.

She swung into the saddle and TC jigged off toward the rail. His beautiful neck had a sweet arch to it and his lovely red ears swiveled forward.

Most riders on bays wear blue, Elizabeth called from the center of the ring. But I think you’d look really sharp in a nice dark brown day suit.

Sunny held the reins gingerly in her fingers, feeling TC’s mouth through the thin strips of leather. She pictured herself in a sleek brown suit, her beautiful, stylish mount with his shaved black mane, and a blue, red and yellow championship ribbon with long streamers trailing as they made their victory pass. She imagined the treasured 8 x 10 color photo she’d get when she won one of the many classes she was sure to win on this fine, well-behaved mount. Elizabeth had dozens of pictures hanging from the walls of the barn from shows all up and down the Eastern seaboard, an endless parade of riders representing three decades of training. Sometimes they were action photos taken during the victory pass. But others were posed at center ring, with the ringmaster holding the trophy and the horse parked out to its most attractive, head high and ears pricked forward for the photo.

What the photo usually didn’t show was the groom or trainer who ran into the ring when their rider was announced the winner. They wiped foamy white sweat off the horse, made sure the blue ribbon was securely hooked to the bridle, and stood out of camera range tossing shavings into the air to get the horse to prick up its ears for the photo. But in most cases Sunny had seen, they also reached up and hugged the rider first, happy for their teammate’s success. Sunny longed for that hug almost more than the blue ribbon. She had never hugged either of her trainers, and yet they had spent who-knew-how-many thousands of dollars on this horse for her. At this point in Sunny’s life, this was the biggest demonstration of love she could imagine. She gazed out over TC’s ears, letting him jig slowly around the ring, feeling wrapped in a sudden kind of security completely new to her.

Okay, let him trot, Harry piped up as she passed him.

She snapped out of her reverie and clucked to TC, eager for the chance to let him go. He trotted forward but with not much more effort than his jig. Sunny gave him a little tap with her heels and he stepped up for a few paces then dropped back to a more leisurely speed.

Use your whip, Elizabeth said.

Sunny gave TC a hard snap on the shoulder and he moved on but she couldn’t feel any inner fire in him. He didn’t seem to have much energy. Maybe he’s tired from the long ride here yesterday, she said to Harry as she passed him again. Each time she stopped using her whip, heels or voice to keep TC going he dropped back down to a blasé trot. She couldn’t really see his knees when she looked down.

Tired my ass, Harry grumbled and walked center ring. He picked a long-lash whip off the ground as Sunny turned at the top of the strait-away.

GITTUP HERE! Harry shouted at TC, and flicked the lash in his direction with a loud crack.

TC went airborne for a second underneath Sunny and she gripped with her legs. They sailed down the strait-away with more energy but as they turned the corner she had to keep at him to keep him trotting. She saw the Dixons talking center ring: they did not look so happy.

Let ‘im walk for a second, Sun’, Harry said and jogged toward the barn. He came back with a pair of medium weight action chains and put them around TC’s front ankles. The chains jingled around with movement, hyping the horse up. They also added weight so that when the chains were removed, the horse would pick his feet up higher. After a few passes Harry determined that TC picked up one front leg considerably higher than the other. The heaviest action chain they could dig up was put around the lagging leg. The ride dragged on and on. TC went easily into a canter when signaled, but keeping him cantering was another story.

Okay, let’s see a cantered figure eight now, Elizabeth ordered.

Sunny trotted to the end of the ring and stopped. She gave TC the signal to canter and he picked up the lead but fell back into a lame trot before they’d completed the first loop. Elizabeth made her do it again.

And again. And again.

Each time TC got more and more flustered, and tossed his head in the air when Sunny used the whip on him. Finally Harry told her to just let him walk, that that was enough for one day. Sunny watched the watery autumn sun dropping behind the pines and her heart sank with it, the high hopes she’d had for this ride crashing and burning around her.

We’ll try again tomorrow, Harry said when she dismounted. I’m sure he’ll go better then. You just need to get used to each other.

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Put these on your boots for tomorrow, Elizabeth muttered. I’m going inside. The cold is making my bursitis act up. She closed the screen door. I’ll see you before you leave tonight, she tossed over her shoulder.

It was almost Christmas now and Sunny stood alone in the cold barn listening to the old pine trees creak in the wind. Five o’clock had already brought on pitch dark and her stomach squealed loudly to remind her that she’d had only a diet soda and Wasa bread with peanut butter for lunch. Wasa bread was like cardboard, only not as tasty.

She looked down at the spurs Elizabeth had pressed into her hand. They were old and dirty, dug out of an ancient tack trunk in the attic. The spiky rowels were so rusty that they barely spun anymore and the black nylon straps were moldy and crinkled. They were probably the biggest, meanest spurs ever made. These were to be used on Top Cat.

He had not held up his end of the bargain. He was an American Saddlebred of champion bloodlines. But bloodlines didn’t come with any guarantees. Harry and Elizabeth had sought a fine-looking animal that was young enough to still show, but old enough to have learned his manners as an Equitation horse, something that would eventually be patient enough for their small grandchildren to start their show careers on. And they wanted it reasonably priced. Watching Top Cat put through his paces at the auction, they thought they had found the perfect compromise.

But, perfect build and breeding aside, Top Cat was not a show horse. He had all the right parts, and looked gorgeous standing still, but he was as mellow as an old plow horse. And he lacked heart, the one thing that could not be trained into an animal. He was sweet and mild mannered, and could handle kids and noise, thunderstorms and snow without batting an eye. But no matter how good he looked, he did not have the spark and intensity required of a show horse. The engine under the hood didn’t match the slick exterior.

For the past two months, the struggle to get some flash out of him had caused Elizabeth to conjure up progressively more elaborate props and schemes, culminating in today’s spurs. But Top Cat was bought and paid for. He was a good horse and her grandkids would look great and be safe on him in the Walk and Trot classes for children. Until then she felt compelled to get enough out of him for Sunny to have a decent two years in Equitation. With all her years