Monday
Downstairs the horses were stirring, welcoming the morning sun and each other. Amy woke to their chatter, one squinty eye at a time. She stretched, sat up and immediately got chilled. Remembering that she wore no clothes, huddled once again under the covers.
Curled up, snuggling in bed for a few extra minutes, Amy thought of the first and only time she had spent the entire night in the loft with Ty. Sleeping with him, their limbs entangled, their breath in rhythm, their hearts aflutter, was like nothing else she had ever felt, before or after.
Not long after that, she and Ty began to unravel. He partnered up with Caleb spending money recklessly, expecting her to pick up the pieces. And, she started working almost exclusively with Prince Ahmed who paid handsomely for her work, then headed to Europe as his trainer during a competition tour with his jumpingm team. Everything had changed, if she was honest with herself, even before Europe.
She sighed heavily, wondering if she'd ever feel that same bliss again.
Dressing quickly, Amy descended the loft steps to say her own good mornings, giving rounds of nuzzles and pets, Spartan first, naturally. She quickly refilled their water and feed. One by one, the horses were released into the big field to just be horses. Spartan wasn't turned out, instead he was tacked, mounted and ridden out the ranch gate. She urged him to the river so they could see the morning fog rise with the sun, ascending from the cool waters. She sat in the saddle as Spartan drank, dipping his head low to the river, then rising, ears swiveling to stay on guard to protect his girl.
She reached her hands up, on either side of his neck, petting him, feeling his coat, the coarse short hair, his warmth. He nickered soft, low, breathy, in response, enjoying her touch, their bond. She smiled slightly, sighed, then laid her chest, her head down on his neck, wrapped arms around him. He held his head high, steady for her. She desperately needed to be held, comforted, reassured.
She needed to talk too. To be heard. Spartan was a willing friend, never questioning or judging. "Oh Spartan, you're such a good boy. You're always here for me. Aren't you? You'd never turn your back on me. Would you? No. No matter what, you still love me." A tear rolled down her cheek, she wiped it away.
"I just don't know what to do. I have nothing left. Ty doesn't believe me. He doesn't want me. He won't talk to me or even look at me." She swallowed hard, trying to push down the sadness, emptiness, the hurt.
"Grandpa, Lou, Georgie, even dad too. They don't believe me either. They blame me for everything that happened. That I've changed." She paused, sighed. "What's worse, they have taken Ty's side. Like he's the only one hurting. Why won't someone listen to me, take my side?"
Her family's reaction hurt her deeply, maybe even more so than Ty's. It gnawed at her, sapping her energy, destroying what little confidence she had. She was empty, alone. She sighed loudly, almost a huff, sat up, shook her head.
"You know Spartan. As much as they want it, I can't go back, can't erase what has happened. Mrs. Bell is right. I just can't. I have no choice but to go forward. If they don't believe me, love me, support me. Fine. I'll do it on my own. I don't need any of them. I'll be fine." She said defiantly, trying convince him as much as herself.
She frowned, her eyes began to blur, tear, burn. She was scared, unsure. She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, pushed the feelings away.
The two headed home at a good clip, his sweat overpowering the lavender bath from the day before. At the barn, untacked and turned out, Spartan raced to find the others. Mucking was almost done when Jack strod into the barn.
Clearing his throat. "Amy. How are you?"
"Good. You?" No looking up from her chores.
"Missed you around the house lately."
"Oh?"
"You steering clear of me?"
"No. Just need some time." Finally looking at him.
"Hmm."
"Grandpa. If you don't have any plans for the loft, I'd like to stay up here for a few days."
"A few days? In the loft?" Surprised.
"Yeah."
"Well, I don't reckon that Ty, Caleb, or anyone else wants it. So."
"Thanks Grandpa." She accepted before he really agreed.
"Just a few days then?"
"Yeah." Fibbing. "Um. Can I still borrow your truck today?" She asked.
"Yep." He turned to leave, then turned back. "Lou's making pancakes. Coming in?"
"Need to finish up first." He nodded, but knew she wouldn't be there.
Barn work finished, Amy retreated to the loft, sat on the edge of old mattress, near the foot of the white iron bed. She closed her eyes, looked inward.
She felt it, in the middle of her chest, a hard pit, hollow, radiating outward, penetrating her heart with every beat. Hurting with every breath.
Loneliness. Despair. Hopelessness.
A single tear escaped, rolled down her cheek, over her lip. Salty, cool. Down her chin. But, she remained in control, restrained in her sadness.
One by one, tears gathered, overflowed, tumbled down her face. She sniffled quietly as her breath quicken. She held on.
Her blue eyes began to blur, sting, burn, water. Her sinuses began to tickle, then fill, build. A tightness grew in her throat. Her chest began to heave. Hurt, emptiness grew, pieced her heart.
She could hold on no longer, it was too much for her to bear. Grief set in, took over. Collapsing forward, onto the floor, on her knees, her head, face in her hands.
Sobs came, first barely audible, catching her breath, her chest, quivering her shoulders. She cried.
Gaining force, wounding her, shaking her. Gut wrenching sobs tore through her chest, escaped her body. Wailing, moaning. Hot tears from her eyes, snot from her nose, even a bit of spitle from her mouth, collided across her face. Her chest heaving, shoulders shaking, heart hurting. She was broken, wrecked. She didn't care, there was no one to see, hear.
After a time, her sobs slowed, quieted, then released her. Spent, exhausted, curled into a fetal position, still on the dusty wooden floor, she fell into a heavy sleep.
Waking some time later, she slowly remembered how she got on the floor. She inhaled deeply, then let it out of her mouth, lips slightly parted. She sat up, legs stretched before her, arms stretched overhead, then she folded forward, relaxed, breathed deeply, in, out. She packed away her tears, there were no more to cry. At least for the moment.
Pushing that aside, she got up, retrieved the notebook from the night stand. Sitting on the bed, she read her words from the night before, formulated a plan, just for today. One step, one day. Inhaled, exhaled deeply. "Okay Amy." She said out loud.
Pulled out her phone, did some checking, made some calls, set some appointments.
Breakfast was well over when she stole into the house, showered, dressed and retrieved a few more items from her bedroom for the loft. Pajamas, extra pair of boots, house slippers, a few changes of clothes. Her laptop. The picture of her mom and Pegasus.
The wooden picture frame caught her eye, the joy on their faces, the pure love in their eyes. It seemed a lifetime ago, that afternoon. Taking selfies in the field, under the golden sun, newly engaged, their life together ahead of them, unbounded optimism, endless possibilities. She no longer recognized that joy, him or herself. Sighing, she turned the picture face down on the dresser.
Gazing at herself in the mirror, the silky red print dress with scooped neckline fit her like a glove, showed just a hint of cleavage, her well toned legs. Her stylist in the Paris boutique had found the vintage dress just for her. She tried on several sandals before deciding on the nude colored strappy ones with low heel. Slipping on a short blue fitted blazer in case she got chilled, she smoothed her hair, tried to smile in the mirror. Satisfied, she turned, walked quickly out of her room, closing the door.
Grabbing the keys to the truck from the kitchen table, she left as she came, quietly, certain to catch the screen door before it banged shut.
Hudson Vet Clinic was fairly nondescript, brown brick building that housed Scott Cardinal's practice. Ty no longer worked there, she did not expect to see him, but still, she was nervous. Her appointment was with Scott. She climbed out of the truck, smoothed her dress and hair, gathering herself, trying to calm her nerves.
Scott had been a part of their family for at least ten years, taken in by her mom as a rebellious teen in trouble. He was like a brother to her in many ways. Yet, despite that, she didn't know how he'd react seeing her, what he knew, what he thought. "Okay Amy." She said aloud.
Walking through the double doors, Amy approached the wooden reception desk. Cassandra was sitting there, focusing on the computer monitor to her right side.
"Hi Cassandra." She said, nice but business like. Truthfully, Amy still harbored bad feelings about her, her ethics, her trust worthiness.
Interrupting her concentration, she looked up. "Oh. Amy. Hi." Cassandra seemed embarrassed to see her there. Or maybe she embarrassed for her. "Ty's not here."
"I have an appointment with Scott. Is he here?" Ignoring her comment.
"Oh. I'll get him."
Before Cassandra stood, Scott came around the corner. "Hey Amy. Come on back." She smiled, following him down the hall to the back room. "Have a seat." They sat across from each other, a metal table between them.
"Scott. Thanks for seeing me."
"Sure thing. What can I do for you?"
She swallowed. "Now that I am back, I am rebuilding my business. I am hopeful that you still feel comfortable referring your clients to me."
He looked at her, made a funny face, shook his head. "Why wouldn't I feel comfortable? Of course I will send clients and horses your way. Like always."
Relieved, she smiled brightly. "Thank you Scott. I really appreciate your support."
He noticed that she wasn't wearing her engagement ring. "Oh. This is about Ty. He quit here too, you know." Frowning slightly, he shook his head, but not angry.
"I know." She said quietly.
"Look. Amy. I know you, what you can do, how talented you are. That hasn't changed." patted her hand. "Okay?"
She nodded.
"Hey. Going to a wild horse rescue outfit tomorrow. Wanna come? I could use your help."
"Yeah. I'd like that."
"Good. I'll pick you up at 8." He paused. "No need to dress up." He smiled. She laughed.
Exiting the clinic, she felt some better, relieved mostly. She climbed into the truck, drove down the main Hudson road, stopped at the post office briefly. Then she drove the truck onto Highway 2, headed north.
Arriving at the Calgary Polo Club a few minutes earlier than expected, she pulled up to the Ranch House main entrance, handed the keys to the valet, took his gloved hand as she exited the truck.
Established in 1890, the club was the oldest, largest and considered the finest polo facility in all of North America. Boasting over 300 acres and nine full-size playing fields, the club was actually located in Okotoks, 10 miles outside of Calgary proper in the foothills on the southern slope of Rocky Mountains. Steeped in history and tradition, the club attracted the moneyed, both new and old, encouraging ostentatious displays of wealth, frivolity, social status.
"Okay Amy." She said aloud. With a deep breath, she strode into the exclusive club, trying to exude confidence, approached the concierge, asked for him, and was escorted to restaurant. Pulling out the high back leather chair for her, Amy was seated at a prime table covered in a crisp white tablecloth, centered with a small crystal vase of wild bergamot and white asters. Pretty.
Her table was situated by the large picture window overlooking the lush, deep green infield, expansive and meticulously maintained. Off to one side, she could see the horse stables, in the distance the Mountains. She ordered a fresh squeezed orange juice straight, which was brought to her in a cut crystal glass, by a gloved waiter.
As she nursed her drink, she took in the rustic grandeur of the room. The walls were paneled in wide hearts of pine planks running horizontally around the room. Their rich patina was achieved slowly over a century or more. Likewise, ceiling, soaring maybe 20 feet above her head, was paneled in pine, but with narrow planks. Hanging from the ceiling were massive wood and hand forged iron chandeliers, a wagon wheel structure with French influence. The huge, but somehow cozy room, was anchored by massive floor to ceiling fireplaces of smooth rounded stone quarried from rivers surrounding the mountains. Each mantle was a thick rough hewn slab of pine, each stone hearth flush to the wooden floor, each firebox huge, at least five by five feet. The fireplace nearest to her was lit with a small, crackling fire, giving a warm, welcoming ambiance.
He was surprised to get her call asking him to meet her here, at the club. Of course, he agreed immediately, but wondered why now, why here. The last time that they spoke, they were at somewhat at odds. In the end, she was right, of course, but she didn't judge, condemn. He just felt naive, even stupid, putting himself and winning ahead of his horse's well-being and good sportsmanship.
He saw her, before she saw him. Amy was sitting by the window, the sun playing off her hair almost like a halo. He fondly remembered meeting her as a fifteen year old, shy, quiet, but immensely skilled in her craft. But, the blonde, blue eyed girl had grown up, she was a woman, stunning, composed, sophisticated. He smiled, somewhat surprised to see her alone.
"Well hello Amy!" She stood, shook his hand. He was dressed as expected, in riding clothes, tall boots, tan fitted breeches, collared long sleeved white jersey. He was a handsome man, toned and tanned, close cut light brown hair, light blue eyes, nice smile. She could see where Lou, Soraya, heck, any woman, would find him attractive.
"Hello Nick. Thank you for meeting me." Motioning to him to sit down.
"So how are you Amy? It's been, what, three years?" He asked.
"That's about right. Three Years. Gosh. Where does the time go?" She completely avoided his question about her. "How have you been, Nick?"
"I am...good. Thank you. Things are pretty good, these days." He smiled.
"Nick. I am happy for you. I had heard you moved to Calgary."
"Well, yeah. About a year ago. After the whole polo fiasco, I kinda laid low for a while. I went back to competitive jumping and jump coaching in Vancouver, then the states, a little in Europe. I came back. I missed Canada."
"What are you doing now?"
"I dabble. I buy, train, and sell jumpers, high end horses. Do a little coaching, mostly polo training, here, at the club." He shrugged his shoulder, frowned a little. "You? What have you been up to?"
She debated what to tell him, how much. But, if she was going to get some honest advice, she needed to be honest herself. Or at least partially. "Well, the almost the last year, I worked quite a lot with the Arab Prince, Ahmed Al Saeed, and his jumping team at Hillhurst and in Europe. I just got back from the tour a few weeks ago."
"Now that you mention it, I think I saw that in the paper, maybe on the internet." Trying recall. "Very Exciting. How was it?"
"Stressful, grueling, demanding, exhausting." She laughed. "But I really did love it. All those high end horses, so beautiful, with natural talent. The competition was top notch too. I got to travel. I loved that too."
"Sounds like a great experience. Why did you come back?" Interested in the back story.
"Well, when my four month contract in Europe ended, I didn't renew. I missed Heartland, my family, Ty." She debated about mentioning him, but it sort of slipped.
"I get that. When I was in playing polo, managing that team, traveling, I loved every minute of that. I was obsessed. But, it took me away from Claire. I missed her."
"How is Claire?"
"Good. She's good." He paused. "You know, after that polo mess, we took a break for a while, actually separated. That was hard." He sighed. "We're back together, well at least, dating. Sometimes it comes up, makes things, I don't know. Awkward."
"I am sorry. But I am glad you are patching things up." She gave him an empathetic smile.
"Yeah. Me too." He rubbed his forehead. "How is Ty? Isn't he in Vet School?" He asked.
"Um. He's good. Yeah, he's at UCVM. One more year to go." She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "Ah. Nick. Ty and I, um, are not together any more. We broke off our engagement not long ago, when I got back from the tour." She tried to smile.
"Oh. My turn to say I'm sorry." He patted her hand. "Um. I wish I had some good advice. Time helps. Begging helps." He chuckled, sort of.
"Yeah. I don't know that begging will do the trick for us." She said quietly. Sighed. "But, um, I was hoping you could give me some professional advice."
"I'll try. But, honestly, you knew what to do at age, what 15 or 14?" He laughed. "I remember meeting you at Heartland. Star was frightened of dogs, think it was a golden retriever. Remember?"
"I do. You know, you were one of my very first clients." She smiled. "I was grateful, still am. It was just after my mom's death. I was a mess, we all were really."
"I would have never guessed it. So how can I help now?" He paused. "I mean. I bet you built a good reputation on the jumping circuit for yourself. You said you work with that prince at Hillhurst?"
"Did. But, not anything more."
"Oh. Something you want to talk about?"
"Maybe sometime. But not today." She closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"Okay. So, how can I help you?"
"Now that I am back, I need to restart my business. I didn't think four months would have such as impact but it did. Even before I left on tour, a large portion of my work was with the prince and Hillhurst. So I've got to rebuild, basically from scratch."
"Okay. Where do you want to do your work? At Heartland? Are to open to other options?"
"I prefer Heartland, but I am open."
"Okay. I have a few of thoughts. The club has a youth riding group that meets every afternoon. Monday through Friday. That class needs an instructor. It's just part time, 10 hours a week. 4-6. The pay is not bad. You'll make good contacts."
"Interesting. That might be a nice diversion. What else do you have in mind?"
"Well, there a full-time instructor position open, here as well, riding and polo. Believe the position comes with room and board. You can board your horse here too. Spartan, right?"
"I hadn't thought about moving. But, something to consider. Especially if I could bring Spartan."
"Or. You could just commute. Plus, you'll make good contacts."
"Okay. Another good possibility."
He paused, then smiled. "Or...you could be my partner."
She smiled. "Ah, you saved the best for last? Tell me more."
He grinned at her. "Hope so. I am buying horses low, retraining them, then selling high. I have a couple of horses now that need more intensive therapy than I can provide."
"Where would I train them at your barn or mine."
"I board them here. But, we can negotiate where. Do you have a truck and trailer?"
"No. But, they are on my list."
"Want go to meet the horses? I keep them here."
"Yes." She placed a ten on the table, as they stood to walk to the stables. She looked down at herself. "Guess I'm not really dressed for stables.
"They don't care what you wear." They both chuckled.
After visiting with the horses, Nick walked her to the valet, who ran to retrieve her the truck. "Nick. Thank you. I will see you tomorrow afternoon."
"Yes you will. Take care."
He hugged her, opened the truck door, helped her in. She waved as she drove away, headed north.
As she walked into the Administration Building on the university main campus again she said aloud, "Okay Amy." She tried to give herself confidence.
Her appointment with Ms. Neebin Flower was scheduled for 2:30. At 2:45, Amy was still waiting in the small reception area with four worn and empty chairs. Having just finished reading the entire Gauntlet newspaper, she checked her phone for the time, frowned. Leafing through a College of Business pamphlet, the receptionist called name, "Ms. Fleming?"
"Yes." Amy stood with her folder in her hand, took one step toward her desk.
"Dr. Flower will be with you shortly."
Seconds later, a elegant woman stepped into the room. Slight in stature, her long black hair parted in the middle, was pulled back into a French knot. Her skin was pale but creamy, accentuating her almost black eyes and thick eyelashes. She was dressed professionally, not in a business suit, but rather in a tailored blouse, narrow skirt, low black pumps. Her expression was serious, almost intimidating. Amy wondered if she had made a mistake in contacting her.
"Ms. Fleming. So sorry to keep you waiting." She held her hand out for Amy to shake, which she accepted. Her hand was cool, handshake firm.
"Hello Dr. Flower. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."
"Of course. Please come to my office." She turned in her heel, headed down the hall. Amy followed behind her.
Her office was spacious, meticulously decorated in a clean, crisp manner. The walls were a warm gray, warmed further by the large window overlooking campus buildings, green spaces.
One large painting hung on the wall across from her desk, captivating Amy. The jewel tone colors, red, turquoise, orange, gold, were vibrant. At its focal point was a large bird with its wings spread, surrounded by butterflies and flowers, painted in a woodland style. She guessed that it was painted by a First Native artist.
"Do you like it?" Dr. Flower asked.
"Very much. The colors are beautiful. Somehow, it makes me feel happy." She blushed, embarrassed by her stupid, childish comment.
"It makes me feel the same way." She smiled as she gazed upon it. "The piece is called Hummingbird and Butterflies. It's an original painting by Jim Oskineegish. He is the son of First Native mother and polish father. His childhood was harsh, horrible, unspeakable things happened to him. But, somehow, out of those tragic things, came beauty, vibrancy, happiness, even power." She paused. "I look at it often, remind myself that no matter the circumstance, I can rise above."
Amy nodded. "I can see that."
"Ms. Fleming, please sit. What can I do for you?" She motioned to her to take a seat in a black leather chair, devoid of any embellishments or even arms. Dr. Flower sat in its twin next to her.
"First, please call me Amy."
She nodded. "Okay Amy." Not offering the same casualness back.
Amy continued. "Um. Do you remember my mom, Marion Bartlett Fleming?"
She paused, somewhat surprised, pressed her lips, then sighed. "Yes. Yes, of course. We knew each other as teenagers, we were close...before she married." She closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Amy did not respond, gave her some time.
When she opened her eyes, her features softened as she looked at Amy anew. "You look very much like her, Amy." She smiled kindly.
"Thank you." She paused. "That's quite a compliment as I always thought my mother was beautiful."
"Indeed. How is she?"
"Um. She died in a accident seven years ago."
"Oh. I am so sorry, so very sorry to hear that." She said sincerely. She swallowed, then added. "Your mom was very special, one of a kind, really."
Amy nodded. "Yes. She was special, Dr. Flower. She was...everything to me. I miss her every day."
"I do too. I've missed her friendship for the last thirty odd years." She said quietly. "Please call me Summer. That's what your mom called me."
"I know. She wrote about you in her early journals. A lot."
Again surprised. "She did? I had no idea." Her eyes got dewy.
Amy nodded. "She wrote that you were her warrior princess, her inspiration." She paused. "Um. I don't want to upset you, or get too personal."
"No, no. It is, what it is. I've come to terms with it. Please continue."
"She wrote that you rose above your family's expectations. Your tribe's expectations. My mom admired you for that." She swallowed hard. "I just wanted to meet you." She quietly added. "Needed to meet you, honestly." She looked down briefly.
She smiled. "How did you find me?"
"Um. From her journals, I knew that you were First Nation, that Neebin is Ojibwe for Summer. It wasn't hard after that."
"So what do you want from me, Amy?"
"Well. Nothing really. I wanted to give you a copy of her journal." Amy handed her the folder containing a copy of her journal, or at least the passages that pertained to her.
"Thank you." She opened the folder. Read the first page. "This is really a gift."
"Dr. Flower. I mean, Summer. I should be going. I have written down my number on the folder. If you'd like to have coffee or something."
Summer just nodded. "I would like that."
"Me too." Amy hoping, stood, extended her hand.
Summer hugged her, whispered. "Truly. Thank you."
Driving home, she stopped at the grocery in town, picked up breakfast items, fruits, bottled water and orange juice, a loaf of bread, peanut butter. She saw cinnamon rice cakes, and thought of Mrs. Bell and Sugarfoot. She put those in her cart as well, then checked out.
Back at the loft, she was putting away her groceries in the mini refrigerator, when Georgie appeared in the loft.
"Hey Amy. Are you going to have supper with us tonight?" She looked hopeful.
"I'm not very hungry. Plus, I've got to run by Mrs. Bell's house. I promised I'd bring some rice cakes for Sugarfoot."
"Oh." Georgie was disappointed, sighed heavily. "Amy. Please forgive me. I am really sorry about the video." She pleaded.
"Georgie. There is nothing to forgive. It's all my fault. Not yours." She pulled her in for a hug. "Promise."
"If you're not mad at me, then why aren't you coming to the house to eat any more." She asked, with good cause.
"I am just busy rebuilding my business." She explained, smiled. "But, you better hurry. You don't want to be late. Nor do I. I need to get to Mrs Bell's place soon. She goes to bed early."
"Okay. Tell Mrs. Bell hello for me." Resigned, but placated.
"I will." She kissed her forehead, to send her on her way. "Oh. Hey. Give grandpa these." Throwing her the truck keys. "Tell him thanks."
Quickly changing into her ranch clothes, she tacked up Spartan, pointed him toward the Bell place.
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SBR