Free A Kingdom in a Horse by Maia Wojciechowska

read in the
Horseman’s Encyclopedia
that a hackamore was easiest on a horse that resented a metal bar in its mouth. A leather strap over the horse’s nose would tighten slightly at the pressure of a pulled rein, and the horse would follow the commands. Now. when she saddled Gypsy, the horse accepted the bridle without tossing her head. And with her mouth free, Gypsy seemed to enjoy their daily rides as much as her mistress.
    With the fear gone there opened a new world of enjoyment for Sarah. The love she felt for Gypsy was an ever growing thing. It seemed to her that now she inhabited a sort of a kingdom, a wondrous country fashioned by mutual need, hers and Gypsy’s. It was a kingdom yet to be explored. She had only reached the first of its many turreted castles, and each day, with each new experience, both of them seemed to venture further. And it was Gypsy who was always leading the way on that splendid journey.
    They had a routine now. After a short walk Sarah would make Gypsy do her turns on the flat top of a nearby hill. Some days the horse flatly refused to change leads, pretending she didn’t know what was wanted of her.
    “You’re not fooling anyone,” Sarah would say. “You’re just plain lazy.”
    Gypsy’s tossing neck would seem to agree with her, and Sarah would not insist. She would wait for those days which seemed right to Gypsy to practice what she had once been taught.
    What Gypsy and Sarah both liked best of all was to run. They would gallop for a quarter of a mile, Gypsy snorting happily, the wind filling Sarah’s eyes with tears. They rode as though they were racing against an invisible string of horses. The earth moved away from them, the grass lay trampled in their wake, the birds competed with them in this flight through the sunlit fields and up the shade of the grassy road. On the top of the hill Gypsy would come to a stop, without a command. There Sarah would dismount and let the horse graze while she looked at the incredible beauty of the countryside. It never ceased to amaze her. It was ever changing, ever more dazzling.
    Many times they chased a rabbit across the fields, and once a buck deer. And now, with the fear gone, Sarah would take her horse to Cornwall once a week. A patch of grass on both sides lined the road, and Gypsy would gallop or canter most of the two miles, not at all afraid of the passing cars. When they would arrive at the town sign, with its ever diminishing population recorded faithfully every year, Gypsy would slow down to a walk. While Sarah would go to the post office or the bank, Gypsy would stand, tied to a parking meter, looking at the goings on and letting passers-by pet her. Sarah had not been ashamed, even that first time, to ride down Main Street. She didn’t care if anyone laughed at her, and no one did laugh. She knew that some people, those who had listened to Margaret Evans, continued to think her quite mad, but the fact was that her decision to buy a horse was the very best she had made in many years.
    “Well” It was Margaret Evans, looking down her nose. She was standing at her box in the post office, and Sarah Tierney saw that there was nothing inside of the box.
    “Hello, Margaret,” she said warmly. “How is the choir?”
    “Why would
you
care?” Margaret shot back, slamming the little door of her box shut.
    “But I do care! About
you
anyway.”
    “We’re not going to have a choir. I’ll just be playing the organ at the ten o’clock mass.”
    “I think that’s wonderful! You play so well, and the voices used to drown your lovely music. Oh, I’m so happy!”
    Margaret coughed.
    “I’ll finally be able to play Bach,” she said.
    Sarah smiled. “Wonderful!” She put her arm around Margaret. “Come out and meet Gypsy.”
    “Does one get introduced to horses nowadays?” Margaret asked.
    “It’s the latest thing,” Sarah said.
    Whatever reluctance there might have been on Margaret’s part vanished at the sight of the horse,