be a couple of small curved nails. She handed one to me. As the horses were eating, she moved toward one.
“All you have to do is grab near the hoof and tug while you tap the back of his leg here,” she said, demonstrating. The horse, occupied with his hay, obediently lifted his hoof. She propped the hoof between her legs. “Then, just dig out the dirt around the shoe. That’s all there is to it.”
I moved toward the horse beside her and tried to replicate her actions, but nothing happened. The horse was both exceedingly large and stubborn. I tugged again at the foot and tapped in the right place, then tugged and tapped some more. The horse continued to eat, ignoring my efforts.
“He won’t lift his foot,” I complained.
She finished the hoof she was working on, then bent next to my horse. A tap and tug later, the hoof was in place between her legs. “Sure he will. He just knows you don’t know what you’re doing and that you’re uncomfortable around him. You have to be confident about this.” She let the hoof drop, and I took her place, trying again. The horse ignored me once more.
“Watch what I do,” she said carefully.
“I was watching,” I protested.
She repeated the drill; the horse lifted his foot. A moment later I mimicked her exactly, and the horse ignored me. Though I couldn’t claim to read the mind of a horse, I had the strange notion that this one was enjoying my travails. Frustrated, I tapped and tugged relentlessly until finally, as if by magic, the horse’s foot lifted. Despite the minimal nature of my accomplishment, I felt a surge of pride. For the first time since I’d arrived, Savannah laughed.
“Good job. Now just scrape the mud out and go to the next hoof.”
Savannah had finished the other six horses by the time I finished one. When we were done, she opened the gate and the horses trotted into the darkened pasture. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Savannah moved toward the shed. She had two shovels in hand.
“Now it’s time to clean up,” she said, handing me a shovel.
“Clean up?”
“The manure,” she said. “Otherwise it can get pretty rank around here.”
I took the shovel. “You do this every day?”
“Life’s a peach, isn’t it?” she teased. She left again and returned with a wheelbarrow.
As we began scooping the manure, the sliver of a moon began its rise over the treetops. We worked in silence, the clink and scrape of her shovel a steady rhythm that filled the air. In time we both finished, and I leaned on my shovel, inspecting her. In the shadows of the barnyard, she seemed as lovely and elusive as a wraith. She said nothing, but I could feel her evaluating me.
“Are you okay?” I finally asked.
“Why are you here, John?”
“You already asked me that.”
“I know I did,” she said. “But you didn’t really answer.”
I studied her. No, I hadn’t. I wasn’t sure I could explain it myself and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Surprising me, she nodded. “Uh-huh,” she acknowledged.
It was the unqualified acceptance in her voice that made me go on.
“I mean it,” I said. “In some ways, you were the best friend I’ve ever had.”
I could see her expression soften. “Okay,” she said. Her response reminded me of my father, and after she answered, perhaps she realized it as well. I forced myself to survey the property.
“This is the ranch you dreamed of starting, isn’t it?” I asked. “Hope and Horses is for autistic kids, isn’t it?”
She ran a hand through her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. She seemed pleased that I remembered. “Yes,” she said. “It is.”
“Is it everything you thought it would be?”
She laughed and threw up her hands. “Sometimes,” she said. “But don’t think for a second it earns enough to pay the bills. We both have jobs, and every day I realize that I didn’t learn as much in school as I thought I did.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “Some of the kids who show up here, or at the center, are difficult to reach.” She hesitated, trying to find the right words. Finally she shook her head. “I guess I thought they’d all be like Alan, you know?” She looked up. “Do you remember when I told you about him?”
When I nodded, she went on. “It turns out that Alan’s situation was special. I don’t know—maybe