Free Rain Shadow by Catherine Madera Page A

sinned.” Taylor slumped on the stool inside the confessional and recited the mantra her mother had repeated at least three times in the car on the way to the church. The priest loomed behind the curtain, a dark and disapproving shape.
    “I am not ‘sir,’ I am ‘Father.’ For that do three Hail Marys and one Our Father.”
    It was not a good sign to flunk one’s first confession. Taylor trudged to a pew and sat down in defeat. She reached into her pocket. The rosary was pretty much the best thing about being Catholic. As a reward for agreeing to confession and first communion, Ann had taken Taylor’s cheap plastic rosary and replaced it with one made of black onyx. It felt like a bribe. Taylor wondered what the priest, not to mention Jesus, would think o f tha t .
    Still, the rosary was the most beautiful thing Taylor owned. The smooth stones were polished impossibly glossy, the white Jesus on the dangling cross a stunning contrast in ivory. It invited her to touch it, to open her mouth and confess everything. Taylor fingered the new beads and recited the Hail Marys : Hail Mary, full of grace! The Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
    Did the Holy Mary really pray for her? Taylor thought of the prayer now as she watched her mother’s face. Ann sat carefully on the denim futon that constituted the living room furniture.
    “Do you still have the rosary I bought you?”
    Over time her mother had ceased to bring up the confirmation debacle and seemed content that Taylor attended Mass with her. But after moving to California Taylor shed Catholic rituals along with her insulated Pacific Northwest clothing. Time to rid herself of hot, uncomfortable attire. Her father and his partner, Tom, did not attend church of any kind, especially not Catholic. “I don’t take guilt trips anymore,” her father had shared once, with a wink. “Those are for your mother to enjoy.”
    “Yeah, I have it.”
    She not only still owned the rosary, she held it frequently and touched the beads in reverence, silent prayers running a merry-go-round in her mind. The prayers helped her relax on sleepless nights, like counting sheep. Counting black sheep.
     
     
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    Chapter 10
     
     
    T
    he only sounds along the trail came from the hum of insects in the warm fall air and the clopping of horse hooves. Taylor gazed at the slender backside of Liz and Toby’s broad rear end in front of her. Rain followed so closely every swish of Toby’s tail smacked her in the face.
    “You should back off. Practice staying at least a horse length behind me,” Liz instructed, without turning around. “For safety’s sake.”
    Taylor pulled up on the reins and Rain slowed. She chomped the bit in impatience as Toby moved farther ahead. Liz continued talking.
    “Rain is probably insecure, this being her first trail ride with only one eye. That’s why she wants to be right on our butt. She’ll have to learn to compensate for her blindness on one side and you need to be extra aware. Especially on the trail where you’ll encounter all sorts of obstacles. Rain depends on you. She needs to trust you.”
    Liz had been a running commentary on horses and horsemanship since they’d arrived at the mountain trail head for Taylor’s first time out. If all went well they’d make a weekly date of riding together until the weather turned. Taylor listened, relaxing into her saddle and the balmy scenery around her, and watched the easy sway of Liz’s hips moving with Toby’s stride. No wonder the woman rode every chance she could get. In the saddle it was hard to recognize any physical handicap. Taylor thought of Liz’s deceased mother who had nurtured the childish Liz and introduced her to the one thing that allowed her freedom from a cumbersome body.
    Liz’s mother appeared saintly when Taylor considered her