Page 40 of Grounded
Annie wondered how she had gotten herself into this mess. She went upstairs to find a pair of boots while Woody devoured her grandmother’s coconut cream pie. She was terrified of horses, always had been, and her grandmother knew it. Annie knew without a doubt it was her grandmother behind this whole horse thing. It was just like her to keep pushing her to get over some deep-seated fear.
Her grandfather kept horses, but they were high-spirited and too dangerous for her, so rarely had she ever even ridden in childhood. There were ponies at the fairgrounds, and once Jake had a horse that he took her for rides on, but that was with him driving, or leading, or whatever you did with a horse.
When she passed through the kitchen, Annie didn’t say a word. She glared at her grandmother, feeling all of fifteen again. Her grandmother had the beginnings of a grin pushing at one side of her mouth, but turned to the kitchen sink before Annie could tell for sure.
In the barn lot, Nutmeg stood looking at them with half-shut eyes. She looked sleepy and relaxed—a good sign. The high-strung breeds her grandfather had were jumpy and ready to bolt, the reason Annie had kept her distance with the breed.
Woody eased the saddle onto Nutmeg and pulled straps around the horse’s stomach, tugging against the leather.
“She swells up when I put her saddle on to keep me from pulling it too tight. We’ll talk a minute while she lets out the air.”
“Does it hurt her?” Annie asked.
“Naw, but it’ll hurt you when that saddles slips off because it’s not tight enough. It happened to me on a trail ride once. I was going down a hill and before I knew it, I was on the ground. That saddle slipped plumb to her underside.”
Woody cleared his throat as if he were about to lecture a college class.
“Okay now, pull back on the reins to stop. Pull on the left rein to go left. Pull on the right one to go right. Let her have her head free to walk. Cluck to pick up the pace and give a light kick in the side to go faster. Always get on and off on the left side and never get too close to the back end in case a horse will kick. Nutmeg doesn’t seem to be a kicker, but that goes for any horse. Never trust a horse. Got it?”
She nodded her agreement, but felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach.
Woody turned back to Nutmeg and pulled hard on the leather straps, then tied them in something that looked like a man’s tie knot.
“All right, put your left foot in the stirrup and swing up when you’re ready,” he said.
Annie tentatively placed her left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn with sweaty palms, and pulled herself up. Two hands placed square on her bottom pushed up.
“Good. Now, what you’ve got there is a Western saddle. I like it better for trail riding, but some prefer an English saddle. It’s up to your own likings,” Woody said. “ ‘Round here, we tend towards Tennessee Walkers and most folks ride Western saddles with English reins.” He chuckled. “Guess we’re mixed up. All right now, cluck when you’re ready to take off.”
Annie swallowed the fear in her throat and clucked. Nutmeg began to walk, and Annie practiced making her go to the left or right. She followed directions beautifully.
After a few more rounds, Annie felt her confidence grow. “This is actually not bad,” she said, more to herself than Woody.
“I’ll open the gate, and you can walk her around the pasture,” Woody called.
He slowly opened the barn lot gate as Annie guided Nutmeg through the entrance to the pasture. But as she cleared the opening, a clang of metal against wood behind them caused Nutmeg’s muscles to lurch forward. Annie was unprepared for the sudden movement and as Nutmeg’s front legs pulled hard into a full gallop, Annie felt her body jerk back in the saddle.
What did Woody say? Give Nutmeg her head? No, pull back.The horse jerked as she jumped; a small limb and the right rein fell loose from Annie’s hand.Oh, dear God,she prayed,please get me out of this.She grabbed the horn with both hands and leaned forward. But she felt her balance slipping away as her body tensed. Nutmeg slowed as she reached the fence, but Annie had lost her balance and tumbled off the side.
Her right shoulder took the worst of it before she rolled onto her back. When Annie opened her eyes, she was aware of Nutmeg hovering over her like an anxious mother, her nose within inches of Annie’s eyes.
Soon Woody’s face crowded Nutmeg’s, his eyes wide and his mouth open.
“Annie, you all right?” he asked. Woody’s breath smelled of wintergreen tobacco.Slush.The word floated through her mind, and she knew it wasn’t right. Not slush.Snush.No, what was it? She searched for the word in the nostril of the horse.Snuff.That was it, his breath felt of snuff. No, smelt of snuff. Wintergreen tobacco crumbled up in a round can that made a faded circle in the back pocket of the high school boys’ blue jeans.
“Snuff!” Annie said aloud, proud for finding the word.
“You want some snuff?” Woody asked. “I got some right ’chere!”
Annie shook her head from side-to-side gently. It hurt along with her left shoulder.
“Can you help me get up?” she asked.
“Take it slow now.”
She held onto Woody’s arm as she rose slowly from the ground. She waited for a few seconds before attempting to stand with Woody holding onto her arm.
“What in heaven’s name?” It was her grandmother, limping across the field toward them with her cane.
