Magic Horses - Softcover

D’Arcy, Rae

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1490782931 ISBN 13: 9781490782935

Publisher: Trafford, 2017

Synopsis

Jillian has spent her whole working life preparing to have an equine rescue farm as a retirement avocation. At last, she is standing on her farm, her body aching, worn down, and alone. But need for foster homes is great, and as Jillian plows ahead to take in the horses that need her, the magic begins.

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Magic Horses

By Rae D'Arcy

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2017 Rae D'Arcy
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-8293-5

CHAPTER 1

I stood in the midst of my dream with the April sun shining on my face. My dream surrounded me in all its glory; it was the result of years of work and sacrifice. Those bygone years should have been the best of my life. I had spent them all working for this. Here it was at last, and all I could feel was anger.

The moving van had just negotiated the turn from my long lane onto the main road, its rumble deepening as the driver accelerated, shifted, and accelerated again. I pivoted and surveyed my kingdom, including the hay barn, the stables, the fenced pastures, and the fields beyond. The old farmhouse had extensions added, the interior remodeled, and new vinyl siding coated its outer walls. There was a new three-car garage topped with a furnished apartment and outbuildings that still needed to be painted. I had worked so hard for it, and now that I had it, my overweight, aching body chided that I would not be able to enjoy it.

I turned, hobbled toward the hay barn and, opened wide the sliding door on its track. It was just a pole building with a plank floor covered in skids that would keep the hay dry. Three loads of grass hay would arrive tomorrow and would take most of the day to fill half of the building. The other half would be partially filled with oat straw the following week. Hopefully, this would be the only year I'd have to purchase these commodities. I had high hopes that my farm would be self-sufficient by next spring.

It was a warm day, so I left the door open to air out the building. I turned toward the stables. The newly laid, fine gravel made walking harder and exacerbated the pain in my arthritic knees and back. The sliding doors were already open, enticing the musty smell, mold, and dust from yesterday's cleaning to ride away on the occasional breeze. The tractor and manure spreader were still parked at the lower end of the cemented aisle. I was pleased that the previous owners had put in good, solid stalls. There were twelve in all. If I ever needed to, I could lease out a few.

I couldn't help but stand just outside what would be the grain room at the head of the aisle to visualize the horses that would stand at their stall guards, looking my way expectantly. I longed for the smells of horse, hay, and grain to fill the air. Someday, and soon I hoped, many of these stalls would be occupied.

I struggled to the huge arena next. Each span of beams was reinforced with two-by-fours forming triangles across the vaulted ceiling to provide extraordinary strength. No amount of snow would collapse that roof. I would have guaranteed year-round riding.

I snorted in disgust. I've been on my feet too long, I mused. It was affecting my brain. My lower back was screaming in pain, and I was starting to grit my teeth. If I couldn't do a little work, how would I be able to ride? I sat in a chair in an enclosed observation area to let the discomfort abate and then tried to walk as though no pain dogged my steps all the way to the house.

I took pleasure in the plush carpeting throughout the house as well as the color schemes overflowing from one room into the next, leading me from one garden of hues and tones to another.

I was a bit sad that it wasn't cooler so I could light a fire in the pit in the great room or even the fireplace in the living room. I consoled myself that there might yet be a cool spell for creating an entrancing fire. My analytic mind questioned, What will you do with such cozy comforts in such a large house all alone?

I can entertain, I countered.

Who, pray tell? You have no friends.

I stood stunned with that realization, and then it shook my insides to be so alone. My buildings were still empty. The house was newly occupied by me and did not quite feel like home. Today was my first day of retirement. What do I do with myself? There was no one to call and no one to come celebrate with. A partially painted canvas was on the easel, but I wasn't in the mood to paint or write. I had been waiting for this point in time for years. Here it was at last, and I felt powerless to grasp it. I had never needed people before. They had never fit into my dream. Why did I think I needed them now? Because that was an awful lot to not share.

Easy does it, I crooned to myself. You knew it would take time to shift gears. Enjoy now. You have plenty of time. Learn to walk slowly and smell the flowers again.

I walked through the newly added part of the house that had been attached to the rear of the original farmhouse. The great room was the middle portion beneath the peaked roof. Sticking out the west side of that was an exercise room with large windows facing the back acres. I felt light-headed as I realized that it was created for someone who expected to spend a lot of time alone. Past the equipment and into a smaller room was a small pool with flowing current big enough for one. It had two walls of windows, one to the west and the other also facing the backyard, which was north. On the east of the great room was a greenhouse where I hoped to grow vegetables for the table during the winter months. As a buffer between the greenhouse and the great room was a small washroom where I could wash the vegetables and rinse the soil from my hands and leave my work boots so I didn't track unnecessary dirt into the house.

French doors led off the great room onto a patio and about an acre of land surrounded by a four-foot chain-link fence. I paused to admire the huge planters on the patio containing magnolia and yew and then shifted my gaze to the yard beyond, where spaced about were white dogwood, redbud, and crab apple trees. There were lilac bushes, ornamental grasses, and areas of sedum or ivy as ground cover. In spots of shade or full sun, benches of wrought iron, redwood, or resin sat at convenient spots for watching the birds that utilized what I had painstakingly provided for them, thinking natural would be better than feeders. I made my way to the first redwood, which was actually a swing, to try to shift gears by gazing at the spring beauty.

Along the side edges of the yard, on the other side of the fence, were shrubs that would provide shelter as well as seeds or berries for the wintering birds, hopefully, so they would leave my own blackberries and cherries alone, which were beyond the back fence, just before the orchard of apples, peaches, pears, and red plums.

I gently pushed off to set the swing into motion and watched the birds madly building nests or feeding their first brood of young. Two shepherd hooks stood a short distance away, holding suet cages. I smiled at the "natural" rule already broken. I'd provide for them only in early spring and winter, I reasoned. They'd provide lots of energy for the frantic, aerial activity all around me. The birds were frightened of my nearness, scowling and scolding from perches near and far before flying away to look for other sources of food. I expected their reaction but hoped that at a near-future point in time, my presence wouldn't frighten them, that they would see me as a benefactor, and that they would know that I had planted the serviceberry, verbena, and burning bush, pampas grass, and yarrow for their benefit.

I thought I saw a flash of blue a half acre away near the bluebird box and rued the fact that I had not brought my field glasses. I refused to go get them. It was enough knowing the box would be used.

I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sun. With the birds singing backup, I let the warmth coax thoughts of my life's journey into my mind. Tears immediately slid from beneath closed lids as I thought of my failed marriage to Daniel. Now it seemed so wrong that I withheld any extra money I had made as a nurse. My dream had been forever in my mind. I had picked up overtime whenever I could and put the financial gain back into interest-bearing CDs. I refused to move to a fancier house, buy adult toys, or need children to complete me. I paid my fair share of expenses, encouraged Dan to explore his interests with his own paycheck, went on modest vacations, and indulged in books on horse care and training. I even took some riding lessons. I took painting lessons and creative writing classes. I did everything to prepare for this moment in time ... alone.

I wasn't, however, a shopper. I wore clothes until they were unusable. I limited eating out and didn't buy music or movies. I didn't color or perm my hair and didn't waste money on jewelry.

When Dan wanted a divorce, it was almost a relief. He felt that I was investing more in my dream than in our relationship. I had to admit the validity of that. I let him buy out my half of the house, and I moved to a small apartment so I could save monies that would have been sucked away for upkeep and repairs. I found a second job. For years, I didn't notice I was alone. There was, after all, interaction with the people at my jobs. When I did notice, I simply worked harder to make my dream come true.

I opened my tear-filled eyes and saw my yard covered in rainbows. I had to smile at the fairylike effect. I blinked; the tears slid down my cheeks, and my yard looked real again. For a moment, I wondered if I would do it differently if given the chance. Most likely not, I conceded. There's no use shedding tears over it, I chided myself. But there was no one to share it with.

You aren't ready to share, said the voice in my head that normally carried on conversations with me.

I felt a pain in my chest at about the same location as my heart. To think I was so immature as to be unable to share.

Not unable. Just not ready, the mental voice clarified.

What's the difference? I wondered. It still boils down to not sharing.

There's a difference. You have to have the right people to share it with, someone who will appreciate it and the sacrifice it took to get it.

I closed my eyes, the better to feel the afternoon sun on my face and to relax my shoulders. It seemed but an instant later that a chill made me shiver, and I opened my eyes again. I was still upright. The control I wielded over myself for years still held sway. The sun was reaching out for the western horizon, casually glancing back at a vanishing day. Huge dark thunderclouds hung overhead. It smelled of rain unshed.

I hobbled to the hay barn and slid the door shut to bar the coming dampness from reentering. As I hurried to close the doors at either end of the stable row, I looked down the lane, hoping a neighbor was coming with a pie or cookies or just a few words of welcome to the area. I was only halfway to the house before the clouds released their burden in a downpour of fat, heavy drops reflecting my sadness that there was no welcome, just an empty lane.

I locked the door of the mudroom behind me, stripped from my soaked clothes and threw them into the washer, and slid into a terry robe hanging by the machine. As I climbed the stairs, I wondered how I could have forgotten to prepare to have people in my retirement. All my preparation was in expecting to be alone — writing, painting, solitary endeavors.

Passing the bathroom, I flicked on the switch to the heating elements in the floor. I lit votive candles along the edge of the tub and started the water running, adding lavender scent. By the time I returned with gown, slippers, and plush robe, the thick maize-colored carpet was warm to the soles of my bare feet. For a moment, I stood savoring the luxurious feeling and then crawled into the calming, hot, suds-covered water.

As the liquid heat coaxed the tension from my muscles, I had a moment of guilt. I had been raised with the erroneous idea that money and luxury were the root of all evil, but my mind reminded me that it was the love of money that was the evil. My money would be the means to help unfortunate horses. I had worked hard and sacrificed much to prepare for that goal. I let my body melt and become putty. Ready for the potter's hand, I mused.

I dozed again and awoke to flickering flames as the only light. I felt heavy with relaxation as I emerged from the cooled water. The towel, slippers, and robe were warm from lying on the warmed carpet. I walked to the bedroom and sat in an armchair to listen to the silence echo throughout the house and watch the rain. It seemed that Mother Nature was crying. Suddenly tears were streaming down my face as well, and I didn't really understand why.

Oh, for pity's sake, I scolded. Why are you sad?

I'm worried about the rain ruining the loads of hay that will be arriving in the morning, I lied as though it were possible to lie to myself.

Don't worry until you have something to worry about, I answered, not at all taken in by my lie.

What a wasted day, I countered.

You enjoyed it, I retorted. Take it easy; take your time; enjoy the transition. Even if you sleep the first month, your body and mind probably need it after forty-some years of working sixty-plus hours a week.

Still to counter any future bouts of sadness, I determined to create a blessings list for all I had to be thankful for and to recite it anytime I felt sadness approaching.

It was a good first day of retirement.

CHAPTER 2

I was out of bed as the sun peeked over the rim of the earth. I was relieved to see a clear sky. I had phone calls I wanted to make before the hay trucks rolled in. One was to the Humane Society for Hoofed Animals. Another was to Equine Angels Rescue. I wanted them both to know I was available to foster rescued horses. During the phone calls, they both said they'd send someone to inspect my place for suitability within the next month. I was disappointed that it would take that long.

I got a big pot of chili cooking using spicy chili beans and chili powder. I preferred a more bland recipe, but Frank Todd said the workers coming to unload the hay were migrant workers from south of the border. I whipped together a large batch of corn bread as well and made up platters of ham and roast beef sandwiches. While everything was cooking, I got on the Internet to look for a horse or two for myself.

The first tractor rolled in at ten, followed by a pickup truck full of short brown men and one young woman. They sprang from the truck bed and scurried into the hay barn. Frank waved to me from the tractor, then neatly backed the wagon into the hay barn, let a worker unhitch, and left. I couldn't believe how no one needed to direct them. They seemed to know where the hay barn was and assumed they needed no permission to open the doors, offered guidance to Frank as he backed the trailer, and knew which side of the building to start stacking the bales. They swarmed like a hive of honeybees, their chatter creating a hum.

Just as they finished unloading the first trailer, a tractor pulling a slanted conveyor drove down the lane, followed closely by another load of hay. The Mexicans pushed and pulled the first emptied trailer out of the hay barn. Frank backed the conveyor into the building. As someone adjusted its height, someone else unhitched it. A few others unloaded a generator that would power the conveyor. Frank pulled away, and the next hay wagon was aligned to the conveyor. It was all accomplished within a matter of minutes. The team ran as a well-oiled machine. Immediately the bales were sliding up the conveyor, and workers continued stacking them in a neat, alternating pattern with a slight space between the bales to allow airflow.

I called to Frank. "Have you a moment to help me bring out a couple picnic tables from the garage?"

"Sure."

I gritted my teeth as I carried my end of the tables as well as a huge trash can for the waste. "That was close timing, Frank. Be sure to give them time for a meal after they're done with this load."

"I will. By the way, Jillian, have you noticed the young couple?"

"Not specifically. The whole group works so well together, although I did notice a young woman was among them. She's coupled with which man?"

"The one in dark-green work pants. That's Sergio. He put in your oat crop. Elena is his wife. They have two well-behaved children: Joaquin and Milagro. They've just gotten their citizenship. You said you needed workers. Sergio has done wonderful at my place. He's a good worker."

"The apartment over the garage is only a one bedroom. And I'm not sure about children running around."

"Compared to what they're living in now, that will seem like a palace. And believe me, the children are well controlled. I think you'll be amazed."

"How old are the children?"

"Four and five. The girl will start preschool, and the boy kindergarten this fall. And I believe Elena is going to attend LPN school starting in June."

"Who'll take care of the children?"

"They have an old woman living with them that cares for them. That's an interesting story too. Maybe they'll share it with you sometime."

"Well, if you're recommending them, I'll hire them."

Frank clapped his hands. "Wonderful. I'll help move them in tonight after work. About seven?"

"That's fine. The apartment has the basics — a double bed, bureau, couch, kitchen appliances, table, and chairs."

"They'll make do. Is the salary still what you told me last week?"

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Magic Horses by Rae D'Arcy. Copyright © 2017 Rae D'Arcy. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: Trafford
• Publication date: 2017
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1490782931
• ISBN 13: 9781490782935
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 192