Mabel Tavington's childhood fused with her adolescence like two metal barbs on a fence. By the time she was sixteen, Mabel was untouchable. Not cruel, but certainly resilient. Smart as a whip, Mabel had an uncommonly short stay at Waterford High before testing out during her sophomore year. She wouldn't miss the rude snickers of her peers each time she opened her show ribbon-lined locker between classes. Especially the heavily lip gloss'd girls who never missed an opportunity to sneer at Mabel's knee-high riding boots and competition-ready ponytail. She wouldn't miss her elders, either, with their never-ending commentary about how much she looked like Marigold or how "strong" she was, being able to attend school so close to where the Casey Schoolhouse once stood.
Training horses for show was all she knew. Like a mare who had been whipped and spurred into perfect form over the course of many years, Mabel was an exemplary rider. Trophies colonized nearly every flat surface in the farmhouse like clusters of stagnant, golden bees in a wooden hive. Ribbons and certificates masked the yellow damask wallpaper that Marigold had hung when she was still strong enough to do so. Mabel's name was dreaded and respected by prospective and returning competitors throughout the southern states. There wasn't a sport that she didn't excel in, except for the steeplechase.
The sporadic quake of the horse's canter, the wind, the grass and the water from the ponds conjoining into a cyclone and pounding down in a torrential rain should have thrilled her. The sensation of flight as each sprint becomes airborne; this is what most riders crave! But not Mabel. To her, there was nothing quite so beautiful as the order and discipline of dressage. And so, it was to dressage that she devoted her life; even though the lack of accolades as a steeplechase rider crushed down on her soul like an iron weight.
When the lacking became too much to bear, Mabel hitched Buttercup's trailer to her truck, drove to the course and trained day after day for five whole months. At night, while nursing her injuries and sore muscles in a lukewarm bath, she would curse her lack of improvement when her time stopped improving.
"I am nothing if I am not victorious!" She would mumble to the dissolving grains of Epsom salt as they scratched beneath her bare feet. When she was certain that there were no footfalls in the hallway or shadows creeping out from underneath the door, she'd slap the surface of the water with force. "I advance myself only through victory!" Victory, victory, victory. The word embedded itself into her brain, poisoning her mind like a victory-shaped tumor.
One night, Giselle the Eavesdropper, intervened on her brooding teenage goddaughter's pity party. "Bumblebee," she pounded on the door, "the pizza is getting cold."
"What did I tell you about pizza?" As Mabel rubbed a warm washcloth over her eyes, a blade of grass pricked her eyelid. "Pizza is 70% grease. Grease makes you sluggish. I will not be sluggish, I will be-" She moaned and pulled the shower curtain around the footed tub when Giselle cracked the door open.
"Victorious, schmictorious. You're killing me, Smalls." Giselle glanced in the mirror and fiddled with her curls before heading towards the muddled form of Mabel as she hunched over her knees in the tub. "Tommy Martin is downstairs."
To this, Mabel peeked her head out from behind the opaque curtain with a bright yellow rubber ducky design. Yet another obvious relic from her mother's reign in the farmhouse that Giselle didn't have the heart to discard of. "I hate him!"
"What an ugly word to come out of such a pretty gal's mouth!"
Giselle handed her a slice of semi-warm Hawaiian pizza on a napkin. With some reluctance, Mabel started to dab the grease away and took a bite of the cardboard-flavored morsel. "I fucking hate him." She repeated with her mouth full. "And I am going to stay right here, in this tub, until he leaves." The curtain was shut again with such force that the metal rings performed an elongated tap dance against their pole.
"Do me a favor and wash that mouth of yours out with soap before you're done in there..."
"What does he want, anyway? I thought that he left Waterford! He has some nerve showing his face-"
"Mabel!" Giselle whispered, sternly before turning to exit the room. Several ideas for punishment crossed her mind, but the cards that Mabel had been dealt regarding Tommy Martin were punishment enough. "You are going to have to swallow that pride of yours and fast because he is staying with us. Temporarily, until Tess gets back from Nashville."
The sixteen-year-old stuck her head out again, just long enough to wrinkle her freckle-dotted nose in disgust. "It's like you figured out the worst sentence to ever say to me and-"
"Don't flatter yourself. Since Jake and I are going out of town and your show on Saturday is in Charleston, I am going to need you to give him a ride that day, too…"
"How all occasions do inform against me!" Mabel shouted once she was behind the shower curtain again. She sprinkled the images of rubber ducks as she pounded her fist into the water in anger.
Giselle could be heard on the other side, chuckling while fussing over her blonde ringlets. "Is that Hamlet?"
"Focus, Mabel… focus. This is just another obstacle on a course that… You. Totally. Own."
"And she goes from reciting Shakespeare to sounding like a common teenager. Would you like anything else from downstairs while you're wallowing in your tub of self-pity and Epsom salt tears? Or have I completely thwarted your appetite?"
"Try obliterated!" Mabel shouted, melodramatically. "You understand why I'm upset, right? I need to be able to focus on Saturday! I'll be able to avoid that gangly, idiotic showboater of a man just fine. He'll probably sleep until noon and fall asleep on the couch with a bowl of deep fried turd balls from the Jade Garden like Jake does every night. But cramming him in a truck with me on the most important day of my young life-"
"I rest my case, young lady." Giselle interrupted, fearing that Mabel's voice had traveled through the house. "Theatre should be your fallback."
Mabel looked out one last time, "I don't need a fallback!" She fumed. "Pedestrian Equestrian named me the state's most promising young rider seven times before I turned ten! Before I stopped being a "pedestrian" and turned full "equestrian"! I have been on the cover of Horsing Around twice- and that magazine is sold by venders worldwide! I have twenty truckloads of trophies and ribbons from local, national, and global com-"
"-and the best part is, you never let your achievements get to your head! Not once!" Giselle's face turned red. "Your parents would be ashamed of you right now, Mabel Alexandria Tavington! Finish up in here before you turn into a spoiled little waterlogged prune."
The best act of defiance that Mabel could come up with was locking the door and remaining in the tub until roughly 10 PM. Whenever her bath started to turn cold, she'd draw more hot water, the sound of which inevitably carried through the house. Giselle almost went up to yell at her and considered sending Jake in her stead, but they allowed Mabel to continue her peculiar "protest" into the night.
Mabel was not a wicked girl, she wasn't even spoiled or conceited like Giselle had speculated during their confrontation. Her commitment to riding, along with many other factors, prevented the trio from ever becoming a real "family". Having someone in the house who was considered a demigod in the dressage world meant constant traveling and training. After testing out of high school and receiving her driver's license, Jake and Giselle felt as though the girl that had been theirs for the last seven years, had reached adulthood. All of them, Mabel especially, needed constant reminders that this was not the case- she was still a child- their child.
Mabel's avoidance of Tommy stretched into the final days of the week. On Friday evening, she drove into Waterford to pick up her jacket at the dry cleaner's. She always felt unnatural without her riding clothes on. There was, however, a blue flannel shirt that belonged to her father that Mabel felt a strong attachment to, but even it felt itchy and foreign from beneath the seatbelt as she drove. The coat needed additional hemming from its constant wear and required another twenty minutes at the shop, so Mabel took this opportunity to visit her parents.
The recent spring rains caused the flora around the cemetery to be in full bloom and she gathered a small bouquet to position between them. When she was younger, Mabel would give just a little more attention to her father and it wasn't until recent years that she felt a pang of guilt for leaving poor Marigold in her shadow. As their resting place came into view, Mabel realized that she wouldn't have to worry about such a thing this time, Marigold had a visitor. And she knew exactly who it was.
"Looks like you've found yourself a mode of transportation," Mabel shouted to Tommy Martin's khaki-clad back. As he turned to face her, she realized that a significant welling of tears masked his blue eyes. "I assume you won't be needing me, anymore?" She continued her original thought, in hopes of concealing just how much those tears of his affected her.
"Good evening, Mabel," he wiped his eyes against his sleeve and forced a smile. Although he was approaching his 30's, Tommy remained childlike in his face and mannerisms. Mabel knew him as a jokester, always vying for laughs and seeking optimism in every situation. Giselle tried to explain to Mabel once how Tommy mirrored Marigold's outlook and levity. She heard nothing but wonderful things about him her whole life, but he would always be the man who stole her father away from her. "Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like…"
"What?" Mabel groaned, "a tuba? A sprig of mint? A wedge of cake from the fair?"
"She was funny, too." Another tear moved across his face. This time, he allowed it to fall without intervention. "Just like that."
"I'm not funny," Mabel brushed past him and placed the flowers between William and Marigold. "Whoever's been giving you the lowdown on me all these years is dead wrong." An awkward pause ensued. "So, where did you disappear to all of a sudden and why did you come back?"
"Michigan," he said, flatly, "uhm, there was a failed marriage and a divorce in there at some point. And I returned because this is where my family is and that's typically what people do after a separation. How's that for an answer?"
"Let me guess, the marriage failed because you're still hung up on my mom. My very, very dead mom."
"That's not fair, Mabel." His face was the most solemn Mabel had ever seen it. "That's actually a really horrible thing to say to someone you hardly know."
"Well, Tommy," she uncrossed her arms, opening herself for the blows of any storm that she might have just unleashed, "since tomorrow is a very important day for me and I'm going to have you distracting me with your presence for the better part of it, I figured we should get any awkwardness out of the way now. I ride poorly when my mind is otherwise occupied."
Tommy's eyes dropped to his shoes, another boyish tick that still latched onto him from childhood. "I didn't even stay one night in the farmhouse. Left about ten minutes after your recitation of Hamlet…"
Mabel's face turned white. Since Tommy's arrival, she left to ride at the crack of dawn and returned home, though the back door, late at night. Any time they might have crossed paths would have been in the kitchen and she'd made a stash of food in her room and truck along with a bit of money for eating out to prevent such an event from transpiring. Had she really been avoiding an invisible man all this time?
"Don't feel bad," Tommy seemed to console her, "I have friends here in Waterford, too. Believe it or not."
If the drive home from the cleaners wasn't hellish enough, the drive to Charleston the next morning was tenfold. She was always doing this, it seemed, creating more problems for herself while failing to rid herself of one. "Hate" was a word that she associated with Tommy. Considering how much her father had suffered because of him, it seemed justified. But she did not hate him, not really.
"Focus, Mabel," she whispered under her breath as the emerald green steeplechase field came into view. "Your problems are back in Waterford. Let them stay in Waterford." It was hardly any use. Tommy hadn't been present for the drive there, but everything from the look on his face and the tears that hung from his eyes were fresh in her mind. "Channel your frustration," those harsh, internalized whispers continued as she rode to the starting gate.
Before the adrenaline kicked in, fear was all she felt. The track and jumps appeared before her like the pages of a horror story. She knew the plot, the distances between each thrill and scare… it was silly to be afraid of something so predictable and yet, she was. "Channel your frustration. That stupid loser walked through your mind palace in his muddy boots. So, what are you going to do about it?"
The bugle's fanfare was heard in full force from inside her barrier stall. While the other horses snorted and stomped, Mabel's senior mare, Buttercup remained still and straight. They both did. This wasn't their element and in the moments before the metallic bells chimes, they shared this mutual thought. "We are going to lose."
"Hey, Tavington," the throaty voice of a neighboring rider traveled through the bars, "Tavington!" Mabel broke focus just long enough to glare. "Big fan," the narrow-faced boy's smile quickly matched Mabel's look of disgust. "Too bad I'm going to have to destroy you out there!"
When the race began, the pair was of riders were still stabbing one another with their eyes. Mabel was the first to turn and shot off into the field with a loud crack of her whip. The leader was already several horses ahead and it wasn't long before the boy from the starting gate whirred by the pin-straight horse and rider.
"You and your pathetic mount should stick to what you know," he called from over his shoulder, "go back to your sandbox and bore us all to tears!"
The boy was clearly taunting her. To make matters worse, she believed him and they fell into last place before the first jump. Mabel's face reddened with anger as she drove her spur into the old palomino's side. "Go, go, go!" She hollered as the wind caught her tears and blew them onto the visor of her helmet. Buttercup's gate lengthened and they soared over the first jump with as much precision and grace as a streamlined jet. When they caught up with the pack, Mabel's commands grew in their aggression. She even stuck her tongue out at her heckler as they passed him by.
They made their way up to fifth place when it happened. Mabel could feel Buttercup's stamina decrease. Despite her love for the horse that she had grown up beside; her whipping, spurring and shouting turned ruthless. The final jumps were higher than the rest. If they could hold on for a few more seconds, they would place. But placing wasn't good enough. She had to win.
The final launch was flawless and the flight was, too. The landing would have been equally impressive if Buttercup's hoof hadn't lodged itself in the fixture, causing Mabel to tumble from her back and into the moss-lined pond below. She hunted for the reins and had every intention of mounting and finishing with integrity, but she rose too soon and the pounding of a dozen hooves cracked her helmet and pulverized her back like hailstones. By the time the last horse made its jump, the tenacious young Mabel was face down in the water and it was there that she remained.
Memories flew by in Mabel's conscience at a dizzying pace like reels of film set in fast-forward. She expected to meet her parents on the other side of whatever threshold she had passed. Her father's handsome face, as it was before the selfish fire had stolen it away, remained at the forefront of her mind. His was the face that she would look for and so desperately longed to see. But all that she could see was blackness, all that she could feel was the cool water until finally, the water moved around her, suggesting a forward motion.
She would have passed by unsuspected if Thomas Martin hadn't grown so fascinated by the river that flowed alongside his family's farm. Since the discovery of the bodies that floated by on the current like souls set adrift in the rivers of the underworld, he would sneak off frequently to watch this mesmerizingly grotesque display. Young boys are morbid that way. The carnage was minimal the day that he discovered her- beautiful and sweet with her golden-brown hair billowing beneath her as the dark waters carried her along. Her lips parted, just wide enough to draw in air and the only deviation from her beauty, the slightest notch between her two front teeth came into view. Thomas dove in, without thinking. Within moments of wading through the shallow, murky water, Mabel hung limply from his arms.
"Miss," he unfastened the button on her black riding coat and touched his palm to her heart. She was the most peculiarly dressed woman he'd ever seen! In the hollow of her throat, a silver bee pendent glistened as she breathed, distracting Thomas for only a moment. "Miss!" His touch moved to her face and he wiped clean the beads of water that latched onto her restful features and tiny, freckled nose. Although her eyes were shut, Thomas could tell by their shape that they were large and wide. "Can you hear me, Miss?" His hand reached for hers.
As Mabel's grip tightened around his fingers, her eyelids convulsed momentarily before opening. Thomas saw in one glance that her eyes were bluer than the highest bend in the heavens on a cloudless day. Blue and calculating, they narrowed, almost in anger, as they took in the face of her "rescuer".
Thomas was uncertain of what he had done to receive such a venomous stare. He also couldn't make sense of the sensation in his chest that this unusual young woman gave him. Surely, he had seen her before. Perhaps, it was only in his deepest and most secretive dreams. It didn't take but a moment for his foolish, teenage heart to react to the treasure that he had found- he loved Mabel Tavington instantly.
Author's Note: Just to give you a feel for how long I can go without writing fanfic. Lol. Since I'm back in class, updates will occur less frequently than they did over the summer (weekly, I'm thinking). The insanity continues... yay!?