The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,84

kept a cow and the chickens, too. I became the bookkeeper and part-time secretary for the horse business, often taking calls with a baby on my hip.

Wallace was our full-time, all-the-time stable hand and groom. We sometimes hired a second part-time man to help him. In a pinch, Cole also helped us. He and Adam were not the partners he and Addie had been, but they were still a good team when occasion arose.

Cole, his wife, Eloise, and their two boys often joined us on the Fridays when Lloyd, the farrier, was on the farm and stayed for dinner. With Lloyd, Cole, and Wallace, there were enough men for post-dinner poker in the barn. Sometimes Joe or Freddie joined them. If the wives came too, we women would let the kids run amok while we retired to the front porch for iced tea. I loved those evenings on the porch with the women, especially when Eloise and my sister-in-law, Mary, both came. When the men came alone, their voices drifted out the open barn door. I loved their unhurried masculine conversation, the quiet rhythm of the game punctuated by an occasional question or a laugh.

We boarded mostly normal horses, but some that came through our stable were the fine-bred, splendid, and damaged animals of the wealthy and obsessed, brought to Adam, often as a last-ditch effort to reclaim them. People from Charlotte and Louisville with contrary horses showed up or called on a regular basis. Often, they paid Adam to come to them. Sometimes, we organized small groups of riders for “classes.” On those days, the pasture filled with horse trailers, the larger, round pen we eventually built, crowded with riders and horses come to learn good manners. Adam continued refining his philosophy of horsemanship, urging the riders to true themselves. Calm, balance, lead. Willingness, not will.

He spent a lot of time observing horses, particularly the troublesome ones. His methods with them varied. But there was a pattern to his process of sweetening a colt. Before the saddle went on, a subtle seduction began. Adam and the horse regarded each other, then turned slightly away. His gaze was expectant then but without the tensions of anticipation, his whole being a simple, upright announcement: I am here. Adam possessed a special kind of stillness then, stalwart and open. He blinked, a single, slow blink. Though I heard nothing, I could tell by the turn of the horse’s ears when Adam’s unique voice came into play. The young horse would sniff with added curiosity and stretch his neck. Gradually, Adam moved toward the horse, then the interaction of touch began. Within minutes, the colt would follow him around as if drawn by some invisible line. If at any point the horse balked, backing away from the blanket or saddle, Adam’s stillness returned. Sometimes then, as he paused, waiting briefly for the horse to reflect his calm, I would feel a slight hum in the air, a feathery drone as if he’d changed pitch or tone.

In the early mornings, when I took coffee out to Adam, the snort and shuffle of horses and the clean odors of large animal health filled the stable. On winter mornings, when I stepped into their animal warmth from the cold yard, my head still thick with sleep, the horses seemed like an animal extension of my dreams, an animate den of horseness that I moved through. I loved them then, for that unconscious availing of themselves. I admired the sleekness of their hide, the powerful depth of their chests and legs, and the whiskery velvet of their inquisitive mouths. The rare times I had alone with them in pasture when they were at rest, I felt honored by their indifference and the glimpse they offered of the herd’s solace. Their grace at play in pastures never failed to stop me and hold me for a moment.

But for all my developing appreciation, I never became a good horsewoman. I remained most content among horses rather than on them. My attempts at honing my skills had been constantly interrupted by pregnancy, and I could never quite be convinced any animal wanted me on its back, that it preferred me to the open sky above.

All the girls eventually became respectful and skilled on the back of a horse. Adam made certain of that. Gracie, like me, appreciated the horses’ company but was the least interested in riding. She often carried a chair out to the stable and read, her back