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Dynamo

By Eleanor Gustafson

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Chapter 1
One last kiss. Simple, unadorned, passionless; two seconds, at best; and in a bottom-end motel parking lot. But kisses of any sort had been long in coming, and this one, impoverished though it was, was the last touch of love Jeth was apt to get for a long time to come.
After the quick kiss, Jeth stepped back and closed the door of Janni’s powder-blue Acura. As he did, he noticed a thread of her dark hair on his sleeve. He would keep that; he’d need it to warm his emptiness. As she backed the car out, he clapped the hood and waved. His eyes hungered after her, pursued her out of the driveway and into the stream of traffic. He looked at the hair again and shivered in a breeze that couldn’t decide between winter and spring. He turned and walked slowly around the faded, scratched trunk of his own clunker. He was glad to have the heap. No money, no job, and a no-good reputation. Basic transportation, yes—along with a full gas tank and a hundred dollars that Janni had put in his pocket. Plus three pieces of cold pepperoni pizza.
“Don’t call me,” Janni had said. “If Daddy guessed I was even talking to you, he’d ship me to Africa, or even the South Pole.”
“You’re a big girl now. Somebody once took horses to the South Pole, y’ know.”
“Don’t change the subject. Daddy can do what he wants with me, and you know it.”
“I called you yesterday and got away with it. Are you sorry?”
“Of course I’m not sorry, but it’s not safe.”
“Why don’t you do the unthinkable and get a job—get away from Daddy? Twenty-six is old enough to think and act on your own.”
“Wingate women don’t work. Mom buzzed off because she wanted something more satisfying than kissing the emperor’s feet. If I behave myself—according to his majesty’s way of thinking—I’m golden. If not… Jeth, whatever you end up doing, don’t call me.”
Don’t call. Be alone. Be cut off from everyone you know, from everything you know how to do. Horses had been his life. Horses and Janni…
He leaned his hands against the rust-pocked car and stretched his back, picking through his thoughts to determine if being with Janni once again had made him feel better or worse. He harvested the hair from his sleeve, held it up and studied it, then released it to the breeze that had suddenly become winter.
He drove almost aimlessly along the pleated ridges that marked central Pennsylvania, his eyes drawn to the long mountains that folded one into another with receding shades of green, gray, and blue. Two years deprived of that view…
He sighed and went back to considering what to do. He had hoped those few hours with Janni would help him sort things out, but he had been too distracted to think along those lines.
Early in the afternoon and a slice of pizza later, he realized he had taken a wrong turn onto a backwater road that appeared to angle across a broad valley. He didn’t have a destination in mind, but he did have a direction, and across the valley wasn’t it. For whatever blurry reason, he had wanted to stay on the ridge road. While looking for a place to turn around, he spotted a number of horses behind a row of new-leaved trees. Fine horses. Wingate horses, not low-grade nags. Animals worthy of white board fencing and a barn with copper-roofed cupola. But this picture was wrong. Some of the fencing was board—weathered and sagging—but far too much of it was smooth wire. Not safe. He drove slowly and came to a rutted driveway with a small, amateurish sign, “Morningstar Stables.” He could turn around here, or…
On a whim and a shrug, he swung the wheel and bounced up a curved grade that opened on a large yard. Straight ahead, the open door of a sizeable though ancient barn revealed a number of stalls. To the right, more horses grazed in another pasture, with a narrow, board-fenced pass-through to the far field. To the left was a steel roundpen about sixty feet across, and behind it was a large ring enclosed by more patchwork boards—some nailed, some tied—with a number of jumps spaced around. A couple of rust-defined horse trailers slouched to the left of the barn—one a four-horse fifth-wheel, the other a more plebian two-horse rig. Far to the left, he could see an unremarkable house sheltered in a grove of trees, and around from that sat an ancient trailer, partly hidden by budded lilacs.
He parked beneath a huge, multi-trunked pine tree that overspread an ornate bench, by far the most elegant object in sight. He uncoiled from the car and ambled to the barn, gritting his teeth against the unexpected stab of emotion that horse sounds and smells evoked within him. It had been a long time. Two hay-munching horses nickered, but he saw no person. He left the barn and was about to try the house when the door of a makeshift office on the right swung open. A man came out, gave a momentary start of surprise, and approached Jeth, his broad, open face smiling in welcome. “Sorry. I was on the phone and didn’t hear you drive up. Can I help you?”
“Hello. Jeth Cavanaugh.” He reached out a hand. “How you doing?”
“Rob Chilton. Welcome to Morningstar.” A denim jacket, slightly less worn than his jeans, covered shoulders that matched Jeth’s, though his height lacked a couple of inches. He appeared a little older, perhaps early thirties, and Jeth sensed both presence and solidarity.
“I was driving by and saw some of your horses.” Jeth waved toward the two pastures. “Nice stock. Thought I’d take a closer look.”
“Are you looking to buy or just looking?” Rob smiled disarmingly.
Jeth shrugged. “Buying’s a ways off, but is the looking free?”
Rob laughed. “Special deal. Today only. You know horses? Tell me about yourself.”
Jeth didn’t answer directly. His long, asymmetrical face twisted wryly. “You’ve got interesting, well-placed jumps in the ring. You train jumpers?”
“Yes, we do.”
“For stadium jumping?” His voice edged toward incredulity.
“Yup. Getting over the jumps is all that matters. We’re low-key here, me and my wife just starting up. Right now we have six promising jumpers, a couple of maybes, and two pleasure horses just for fun and a little income. Katie—my wife—gives lessons on Saturdays. She loves kids, and it’s a welcome change from barn work and training. The bay to the right is Meg.” He pointed toward the near pasture. “A sweetheart. Reads your soul. Won’t ever take advantage. Jake—that big, broad sorrel against the trees on the left. Some draft-horse genes in him, but you’ll never sit a more comfortable canter.”
“Neither of them jumps, I take it.”
“No. Pure pleasure. We’ve got a nice trail network through the woods behind the barn.” Rob waved to the left. “Three, four miles, and a couple of overlooks with benches, where we can eat a sandwich and enjoy the view of Duncan ridge across the way. Our trail hooks up with another system, so we—”
“Whoa! Who’s that?” Jeth exclaimed, as a small, dark horse careened around the pasture, tail up and neck kinked. Three others joined the romp, kicking and squealing.
“He’s our baby, a Warmblood with sterling genes. Toogentia’s Jewel, aka Toogie.”
“Warmblood!”
“Yes. Mid-weight horses, between ‘cold blood’ draft horses on one end and ‘hot bloods’ like Arabians on the other. Bred more for what they do than what they look like.”
“Toogie. Wow! Look at him! Turns on a dime. Quarter-horse genes along with Warmblood? Whatever, he’ll fill out well. A charcoal beauty.”
“He’ll end up white, but a stunner, for sure. You’ve jumped?”
“Yes.” Jeth hesitated but then went on, with a crooked smile. “I was practically born on a horse, grew up on a horse farm. My dad was one of the trainers.”
“One of the trainers?”
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate. “I’ve done some training, some showing, but I’m willing to do anything, even muck stalls.” He grinned, seeing the question in Rob’s eyes. “And, yes, I’m looking for a job.”
“Well, let me see you ride.” Rob turned toward the first stall. “I was just going to work Peanut. Let’s saddle him and see how you do.”
Rob pulled tack from a dowel-lined alcove and passed the saddle to Jeth. “He needs grooming,” he said, brushing sawdust out of the sorrel mane. “But swiping him will have to do.”
They led Peanut to the mounting block outside. The saddle creaked comfortably as Jeth mounted, a look of bliss softening the rugged contours of his face. “Oh, this feels good! I’m a little rusty, so cut me some slack till I get the feel of him.”
“Wait! I’ll get a helmet.” Rob jogged to the barn and back, and after passing off the headgear, he watched as Jeth rode the ring perimeter. He trotted till the horse had finished the snort-and-cough routine, then cantered, taking his time before going at an easy fence. He moved to fences of increasing height and difficulty. The horse wavered at one. Jeth pulled him around, went back, and then took him over three more times, from various approaches.
Rob’s eyes widened. While they walked the horse cool, he turned to Jeth with a touch of awe. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that? Natural seat, oneness with the horse…riders like you don’t drop out of the sky every day, y’ know.” He grinned. “What stable was it you grew up on? One around here?”
Jeth averted his eyes and ran a hand through his flyaway hair.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“At some point, I may have to tell you, but for now…”
“For now, let me put Peanut in the pasture. Be right back.”
Jeth’s attention was caught by squeals of rage and a thunderous attack on the sides of a stall at the back of the stable.
“Don’t mind him,” said Rob, coming back inside. “That’s Dynamo, a five-gaited stallion thrown in on a deal we couldn’t refuse. Gorgeous animal, registered American Saddlebred, but a mean devil. We’ll be lucky to live through him till I can unload him. Know anyone who wants a hunky stud?” He grinned.
“Can I see him?”
“Not easy, but we’ll try.” Rob grabbed a bucket and scooped a handful of grain from the feed bin. When they got close to the stall, the stallion renewed his attack. Rob raised his eyebrows and shook his head, but with a lead in one hand and grain bucket in the other, he opened the door and cautiously snapped the lead to the halter. He looped the lead chain over the stallion’s nose and led him out, fighting him all the way.
Jeth whistled. Dynamo, a coppery chestnut with long, flaxen mane and tail and finely chiseled head and neck, had almost perfect conformation. The fire in his eye hinted at a raging furnace deep within his heart and bones. “Big guy! Sixteen-two hands?”
“Sixteen-three,” Rob said. “He looks a mess. We don’t clean him often, obviously, but he’s a beauty.” He pulled debris from Dynamo’s mane and swiped sawdust and loose hair off his neck. “He’s shedding. Needs a good grooming, but not today.” He grinned.
“Yikes—those feet! How does he walk without tripping?”
“Yeah, I should have the farrier pare them back. I doubt we’ll show him anytime soon, but that’s how he came, so we’ve kept them that way. Long toes make them pick up their feet—high. That and ankle chains. But we’re not training him, so no chains.”
Jeth shook his head in wonder. “Saddlebreds are a way different breed. And it can’t be just a matter of training. His tail…”
“That’s cosmetic. They nick the tail muscle, and we’ve got a tail set to train it up. A horse curler.” Rob grinned. “We’ve never put it on him. They tell me the tail nick doesn’t bother the horse. If anything, helps them swish flies easier.”
Jeth made a face. “Not natural, though—full, beautiful tail, forced up like that.”
“I’m with you there,” said Rob. “But Dynamo’s got a mane and tail to die for—when it’s clean. He’d be a sight in the show ring. I watched a five-gaited class last year, and they’re awesome. And, to some degree it is a matter of training, though a few horses seem born with the moves. Don’t know much else…except, they told me, Saddlebreds were developed on Kentucky plantations. Robert E. Lee’s horse Traveller was a Saddlebred. How about that?”
“Cool! Traveller was probably friendlier than Dynamo, though. Okay, the gaits: walk, trot, canter, like other horses. Then what? The feet come down separately, like a fast walk? Can’t remember what it’s called.”
“Slow gait. Probably like Traveller. And rack is a fast slow gait, if that makes sense.” Rob laughed. “From what I’ve seen and heard, the faster, the better.”
“Is this guy rideable?”
“I’ve been on him once.”
“Can I try?”
“How much do you value your life?”
Jeth grinned and cocked his head. “Not enough to pass up the chance!”
They cross-tied Dynamo and got the saddle on his back, dodging kicks, bites, and foreleg strikes, but before they could cinch the girth, they had to bridle him—even more difficult. Together they managed to get all the tack in place, and again, Rob complimented Jeth on his way with horses.
Jeth mounted cautiously. “Huh! I could see this saddle was different, but sitting on it…” He started to shorten the stirrups.
“Un-uh. Saddle seat is long stirrups. Not like jumping. Different breed, different saddle, different way of riding. Actually, the stirrups should be even longer. You’ve got more leg than I do.” Rob adjusted one side, and Jeth the other. “That looks better. Now, sit back and push your feet forward.”
“Like this?”
“Sort of. The idea, they told me, is to keep your weight off the horse’s forequarters so he’ll pick his feet up higher. I did what I was told but didn’t ride him long enough to get used to it.”
Jeth’s eyebrows went up. “A lot to think about here!”
Rob led him to the ring, keeping out of mouth range. “If he dumps you in here, at least I won’t have to chase all over the county to catch him.”
Jeth put the horse to a slow trot. Dynamo shook kinks out of his neck, and might have done worse, but Jeth held him in check. “This is weird, sitting this way. But, man! The power underneath me! Like a jet plane on takeoff.”
“Yeah—saddle seat plus power.” Rob raised his eyebrows. “When you think he’s ready, pull him to a walk before you canter. They’re not like jumpers, cantering from a trot.”
Cantering released a few more kinks, but Jeth kept his seat, pulled him down, and started over again.
“Wow!” said Rob. “What a rocker!”
“So far, so good. Okay, gears one, two, and three. How do you get into fourth?”
“They said to sit back and work the reins somehow, sort of high and out. Try whatever. I sort of got him into it, but it didn’t last, and I gave up.”
Jeth tried a few times from a walk, but the horse would only trot. He kept pulling him down. “All right, feet forward, sit back, reins high, and—hey! He’s doing it!”
“Good show! Let him get the feel of it before you push him.”
“Man, what a horse! He’s Dynamo, for sure! Dynamite!”
“Looks good.”
“Okay, big guy, let’s see what you can do.” Jeth brought his heels back ever so slightly, and the horse responded, going faster. He didn’t hold for long, though, breaking into a canter.
“Not bad for a start,” said Rob. “Looked really good!”
Jeth left the ring and dismounted, patting the horse’s neck. Dynamo responded with a vicious thigh bite. Jeth swatted his mouth, and the horse swung around, half rearing. Jeth, jaw set, pulled him back and handed him to Rob. “Hold him.” He gathered the reins, quickly remounted, and took the horse back into the ring. He got him into a slow gait, then rack, and held him to it till the horse was breathing heavily. Then he slowed him, patted his neck, and dismounted, patting him as he had before. This time, there was not even token retaliation.
“Whoo!” was all Rob could say.
They walked and talked until the horse was cool.
“Where do you live?” asked Rob.
Jeth scratched his head and smiled. “Wherever I need to, to work here.”
Rob laughed. “Well, we’ve got an old trailer over there.” He gestured toward it. “Not much, but the roof doesn’t leak. Can’t offer much in actual money, but hopefully that will improve. But before we get down to the fine points, there are some things we need to talk about.”
After putting Dynamo in the stall, Rob led Jeth to the bench under the tree. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Jeth shook his head. “I’m good.” He stood for a moment, admiring the cast-iron metalwork of the bench back that featured a running horse with mane and tail flying. “That’s pretty fine!”
“When Katie’s dad died, we got some stuff, but that was the only thing of his she really cared about. He was a horse lover all his life.”
They sat. Rob studied his boots a moment, then looked up. “Katie and I are Christ followers. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but it’s an important issue.” He eyed Jeth, who was listening intently.
Rob went on. “We do things differently than a lot of people. I won’t cheat a buyer, and I give the good and the bad about every horse I try to sell. We stay away from bad language and wouldn’t want it used here. We wouldn’t want drinking on the job, and we’d have to talk about on the premises.” He glanced toward the trailer and looked sideways again. Jeth remained silent. “Smoking, as well. Those are safety issues, as well as our own preference. Of course, drugs are out. We don’t want either people or horses messed with.”
This time, Jeth looked down but didn’t say anything.
“How does all that sound to you?”
Jeth didn’t respond right away. Then he looked off and said to the empty air, “I really want the job. There’s so much going on here, so many possibilities, and maybe I could bring some things to it. I think you and I would get along fine, at least from what I’ve seen so far. And”—he looked at Rob, his long, crooked face grinning—“there’s Dynamo.”
Rob chuckled. “Let’s go in the house. I want you to meet Katie—my little dynamo.”

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