A Horse for Elsie Read online

  She waited, the car went past, and she loosened the reins, drawing slightly on the right. She couldn’t make a tight turn, so she allowed a slight maneuver.

  The horses responded as one.

  The turn was executed flawlessly.

  “Perfect!”

  Elam was grinning, watching Elsie, who never took her eyes from the team, her back straight, her hands held at the proper angle, her profile showing pure concentration.

  “Great. You’re doing great.”

  She said nothing, allowed no smile of recognition.

  Traffic almost stopped. The occupants of passing vehicles gawked like schoolchildren. Cell phones were held out of windows as their picture was taken repeatedly. Cars pulled to the side of the road, motorists scrambling to record the massive four-horse hitch on their phones to show the world.

  Elsie was not distracted. She kept her eyes on the horses, her hands steady on the reins as they moved along the country roads of Lancaster County, making a huge circle before coming from the opposite direction, slowing to make the turn into the Stoltzfus driveway.

  They drove up to the barn, where the dark figure of Elam’s father emerged immediately, a scowl on his weathered face, his hat pulled low.

  “Why’d you let her drive?” was his way of greeting.

  “She’ll drive at the sale.”

  “Not without my permission.”

  There was nothing to say to that, so they climbed down, one on each side, beginning to loosen traces as they averted their eyes. He watched, without comment, then turned away and left.

  Benny came flying out of the house, his coat flapping behind him as he struggled to shove his arms into the sleeves. He had long since abandoned the torn straw hat, but his long bangs took the place of having to peer at his surroundings through the brim of his hat.

  “Hey, you guys!” he shouted. “Why’d you leave without me? Huh? Sneaking off so I don’t get to ride. I bet you got your picture taken? Huh? I could have been on there.”

  “Too bad,” Elam called, grinning at his younger brother.

  “Can I drive next time?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Is that right? I’ll ask Dat.”

  “Look, Benny, you don’t have an interest in these horses. There’s a lot more to it than having your picture taken. You’re never with us, you have no idea how to drive, or hitch them up or anything.”

  Benny changed the subject. “I’m going for pizza. Wanna come with me? Me and Rueben.”

  Elam lifted his eyebrows to Elsie.

  The truth was, she was starved. She’d been too nervous to think about eating all day. But with Benny and his sidekick? She nodded.

  After the horses were rubbed down, stabled, and fed, and the wagon shoved into the garage, they cleaned up in the house. Elsie was shy and quiet, borrowing a clean apron from his sister. She tried not to gawk at the immensity and beauty of the house. Elam and she were still worlds apart.

  “You have to get in the back,” Benny informed them, after he led his horse and buggy up to the yard.

  Elsie stiffened.

  She wasn’t aware of any young man having a back seat available. Normally, the youth crowded in the front, the back full of all the paraphernalia young rumschpring carried with them.

  “Why do you have Dat’s carriage?” Elam asked.

  “My brakes are shot. Came down Welsh Mountain and burned them out over the weekend.”

  There was nothing to do but climb into the back and submit to the intimacy of the back seat of a buggy, which is a small space, at best, knees shoved up against the front seat.

  Benny was a terrible driver, talking nonstop, lurching to a grinding halt, then chirping and shaking the reins over the unsuspecting horse’s back, causing the buggy to be yanked forward. He drove off the road repeatedly, resulting in a clunk as the right wheels dropped off the macadam, onto the gravel shoulder, throwing Elsie against Elam, who took full advantage of the closeness, wrapping an arm protectively about her shoulders.

  Rueben was picked up and the two started in with their constant jokes. Elsie laughed so hard, tears ran from her eyes as she bent forward, which enabled Elam’s arm to tighten even more.

  The pizza was delicious, the dim light another intimacy with Elam painfully handsome beside her. Everything seemed surreal, the giddiness of having driven the four-horse hitch successfully, the joy of looking forward to the sale in Ohio, knowing she would soon ride Gold with Elam on his riding horse, as all her insecurities and inhibitions melted away in his company.

  And later, she blushed to think that, yes, when that arm came around her shoulders on the way home, she had leaned in slightly—maybe more than slightly.

  Oh, the feeling of being wanted and protected, though. She had never imagined the quiet assurance of growing into something she labeled “like.” She liked Elam. Love, the heart-throbbing captivity of falling in love, was too much. This kind of friendship was perfect.

  Chapter Ten

  For all that year, their friendship deepened. They fed horses, braided manes, cleaned stalls. They stood in box stalls ripe with the smell of fresh horse manure, leaned on pitchforks as they talked. Sometimes they argued, when Elsie could not control her tongue, when she felt passionately against one of Elam’s decisions.

  They rode together, sometimes holding hands, the creak of leather, boots in stirrups, the nodding of the horses’ heads, the ring of an iron-shod hoof on rock.

  And still they did not date officially. He never asked her out on a real date, so no one knew about the developing relationship.

  Elam’s father watched with a wary eye, but never said a word. His mother knew, but figured it was best to stay quiet. That girl had more horse sense than anyone she’d ever known, and if horses were what it would take to get those two together, then so be it. Elsie was who she wanted for Elam. Unspoiled, taught in all the ways of submission and obedience, she would be the perfect match for Elam’s strong will and spontaneity.

  Sometimes they spent a weekend together, but always with a group, never giving away the friendship that had developed already. She drove the four-horse hitch at many events, Elam beside her, her gloved hands soft but firm and capable. She looked forward to each event, but concentrated on extra training beforehand, doing the work, inspecting harnesses, braiding and rebraiding manes until they passed her expectations.

  She grew to love the crowds, the yells, the hat throwing, the thunderous cheers. Her confidence increased every time they made successful drives around the ring, which pleased Elam. She had even taken to standing up to his father. There was never anything done quite right, always a buckle too loose, a strap too tight, a braid not bound tightly enough. Small, irritating things she had hurried to correct, before. When the horses were loaded into the comfortable trailer, tethered, and given sufficient attention, he stood by the gate as they raised it, stern and imposing, as always.

  “You should have loaded Dominic first.”

  “Why is that?” Elam asked, clapping his hands to rid them of dust, then bending to brush off his clean black trousers.

  Elsie stood waiting.

  “He’s the most aggressive.”

  “And why would it make a difference when he was loaded?”

  His father’s eyes met those of his son, the thread of dislike decipherable by the pronounced scowl on the elder Stoltzfus, and the downward twitch, the vulnerable arc of the sides of Elam’s mouth that always tore at her heart.

  Elsie stepped forward, her arms crossed loosely across her waist.

  “Dominic does best on the right, at the very front, on account of the traffic. That’s why he’s loaded there.”

  She could see the arrival of his taunt, his dismissal of her judgment, could see the correcting of it, the instant smile of condescension.

  “Ah yes, Elsie. You’re learning fast.”

  “I am. And I do appreciate that you allow me to work with the horses. It’s a lifelong dream.”

  “Just ma
ke sure you take 283, and not 30,” he said gruffly, and strode off.

  Elam muttered something about him not being the driver. The driver had his wife along, which meant they would share the second seat of the dual-wheeled pickup truck with the immense trailer attached to it. They talked the whole way, conversing in Pennsylvania Dutch, mostly about the relationship with his father.

  “I mean, come on. Why would we take 30, with four horses? That route is OK if you’re not in a hurry, but what was he thinking? He always manages to make me feel like I’m ten years old.”

  “I think it’s most fathers and their oldest sons. I really do. It’s normal. He knows you’re better with the horses than he is. He knows we’ve taken these horses to a level he never thought possible.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So don’t worry about it. He needs to feel as if he has accomplished all this, not us. It’s a man thing. I can tell he hurts you with his words, but let him have that sense of authority by picking on little things. It makes him feel important.”

  “He needs to grow up.”

  “So do you.”

  “Harsh words.”

  “Necessary words.”

  Their eyes met and held. They both smiled. It was a smile that made Elsie feel wanted, respected, accepted, elevated to a position of absolute trust. They knew each other so well, could openly discuss every situation, every slight feeling of annoyance or anger, every joy, every accomplishment.

  And yet, it never dawned on them that they probably should be dating in the conventional way. Perhaps if they did, all this would be lost, this shared intimacy of building a perfect four-horse hitch. They made the wide curve from Route 283 to the Pennsylvania Turnpike entrance, slowed while the driver positioned the EZ pass scanner, then resumed their speed as they traveled west.

  “Another few hours and we’ll be there. Altoona isn’t more than a hundred miles, maybe a hundred twenty.”

  Elsie sat back and enjoyed the view of the wide Susquehanna River, the towering apartment and office buildings in Harrisburg.

  Three Mile Island was steadily spewing the steam from the nuclear plant, with other, smaller islands dotting the river like moles on a face. Elsie loved the river and wished she could camp on that largest island; she pointed it out to Elam.

  “I’ll take you camping sometime. But not here, on these islands. You wouldn’t be allowed.”

  “Seriously?”

  For Elsie believed everything Elam said. He was the wise one, the knowledgeable one. But when it came to the horses, she was his equal. And finally, she knew it.

  Her work at the bakery was no longer a challenge. All she really cared about was Elam and the horses, and not necessarily in that order. To be able to groom them, braid the manes, and oil the fetlocks was nothing like the repetitive motion of doing hundreds of yeast rolls and bread, cinnamon rolls like an expanse of sweet dough she automatically peppered with cinnamon and brown sugar, her hands flying effortlessly while she talked to her sister Malinda.

  Rache, the eagle eye of the entire business, confronted her before the Christmas rush. In her normal abrasive manner, the ever-present tall cup of cappuccino clutched in her sausage fingers, she stood without speaking, a huge and intimidating presence.

  “So, what are your thoughts about your job?”

  Confused, Elsie stopped rolling the length of dough. She turned to look at Rache, one eyebrow arched in question.

  “What do you mean, my thoughts about my job?”

  “Well, you’re awfully preoccupied. Your thoughts aren’t on your work. I asked for two batches of iced raisin bread, and what did I get? Only one.”

  Elsie blushed, stammered.

  “Surely not.”

  “Yeah, it’s true. Now there are only two loaves on the shelf.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry isn’t going to correct the problem.”

  “I’ll do another batch.”

  “You can’t. You have all you can do with the iced cinnamon rolls. I don’t know what Eli will say.”

  Elsie felt the heat rise within her. The old Elsie would have quivered in her shoes, frantically apologized, afraid she’d lose her job, at worst. But now, she felt a new confidence. The same backbone she felt as she climbed effortlessly onto the high wagon seat and took the reins in her hands, looked out on the beautiful symmetry of those four wide backs and the colorful, intricate weaving of the manes, and knew those magnificent creatures trusted her as she trusted them. She held the power to make them obey with the reins in her hands, knew when one horse was nervous, jumpy, and knew what to do about it.

  Now, she knew Rache was used to the power of the upper hand, knew she could display all kinds of authority, being Eli’s right hand, and reveled in it.

  Elsie knew, too, that one batch of raisin bread was not a big deal. Not even close to what Rache was hoping to make it.

  “I’ll do it. No problem.”

  “It is a problem.”

  Malinda worked furiously, her back turned, her head lowered in submission.

  Elsie drew herself up to her full height, her hands on her hips, and looked at Rache squarely. Her eyes were like wet raisins in mounds of dough, shining with grease.

  “As soon as you remove yourself from this space, I can get to work on it. If you need to tell Eli, go right ahead. For all the years I have worked here, he has never complained about my work, and I’m sure I have made more mistakes than one batch of raisin bread.”

  Elsie lowered her hands and made shooing motions, to get her to remove herself.

  “Go. I need to get started.”

  “Growing up, are we?” was her parting shot, but she moved off, like a great lumbering ox, holding the cup of cappuccino like a sword.

  “Elsie!” Malinda hissed.

  “Sorry, Malinda. But it’s time she knows I am no longer afraid of her.”

  The bakery fairly sizzled with activity as Christmas approached, and Elsie did her best, the way she always had.

  Somehow, she knew the old ways to please Eli and to astound Rache with her abilities were faltering. Like a gasoline engine that was running out of fuel. Her heart simply was no longer in the work at the bakery.

  Yes, she needed the money. Her feed bill came regularly every month, and her parents depended on the extra amount, now doubled by Malinda’s pay. Her mother had confided in her about being able to “put away” a rather large sum for her cedar chest made at Dannie King’s woodworking shop. She would buy towels and sheet sets in January, when some of the local dry goods stores held their sales.

  “Maybe even Walmart.” She spoke reverently, with a hidden delight at being able to do as other mothers did, to fill the hope chest with linens, tablecloths, and kitchen towels, the marriage of a daughter like northern lights in a dark sky.

  She was in awe of her daughter Elsie. But still, lovely though she was, it was necessary to stay humble. She could be dating now. She’d heard from her sister that a half dozen boys, if not more, had asked her.

  She turned them all down, crazy to be with those Belgians on the Stoltzfus farm. Or was it the son?

  Well, she’d go ahead and get that hope chest filled up, a luxury she could not have dreamed of before the wonderful high-paying job at the bakery.

  God would provide, she’d always said. And now He had.

  Elsie knew she did not want to live the remainder of her years providing for her family. She longed for a home of her own.

  To be able to get up in the morning and make breakfast for someone she loved, to do laundry, clean her own house, work in her own garden, the added bonus of being able to work with the horses… .

  What? Where had that thought come bubbling out of? To daydream about her own home had nothing to do with the Belgians, or Elam. Did they? Did it?

  Oh, but it did. Elam and the Belgians and Gold, Cookie, old and graying around his nose, all of it, everyone was included in her hopes for the future. It was all she wanted.

  And yet, he
had never popped the question: “Elsie, may I take you home? Elsie, may I ask you for a date? May I pick you up on Saturday evening? Around seven?” Since that night she turned him down so long ago now, he hadn’t once broached the topic.

  As time went on, she came to believe their friendship was merely that, a friendship and perhaps a professional partnership.

  The weekend in October when they trucked the riding horses to Mount Gretna to go trail riding in the mountain with the colorful foliage was a bit of heaven on earth. They’d talked of their relationship, how well they got along, how one knew what to expect of the other, even laughed about it. The look in his eyes contained an ownership, a pride in her, so that her heart quickened. She was so sure he would turn the conversation to serious plans of beginning a formal courtship.

  Sometimes, he held her hand when they rode, their knees touching as the horses walked in rhythm, the creak of stirrups and saddles whispering their close feelings.

  On the trail ride, he told her she was beautiful.

  That was all, though, which was much like drinking unsweetened tea—it was good, but she had hoped for more.

  And here was the Christmas season again, a time of joy in the savior’s birth, the giving of gifts to one another to follow the tradition of the wise men, and she was left with the impending wisdom that she’d have nothing from Elam but a tall glass of unsweetened tea. And another and another.

  There were no horse shows or sales till January. The Belgians were in top-notch condition, so Elsie stayed home in the evening, pampered Gold, took her brother, Amos, for rides, sitting astride like a mighty little warrior as the cold wind scoured the brown fields, sending bits of corn fodder aloft, whirling madly in any direction.

  Amos loved the golden horse, spent all his time at the barn with Elsie, jabbering away in his lisping voice.

  He told her that if he ever got married, he and his wife would have a llama farm with horses to chase them around and a red Farmall tractor to haul the dead ones away.

  Elsie threw back her head and laughed.

  “You funny boy! Now why would your llamas die?”

  “A fox would get them.”