Read Online A Kingdom in a Horse by Maia Wojciechowska - Free Book Online Page A

impression of a ghost town. Beautiful old houses, with turrets and fancy woodcarving decorating the windows, stood abandoned. Some with their windows broken, like wounds, others with shutters that swayed in the wind and doors half ajar, looked like people living in the past and unconscious of the present. Where once lawns were kept immaculately free of weeds, now brush grew, forbidding entrance to houses inhabited only by ever dimmer ghosts of sounds and sights.
    In a way Margaret was like Cornwall. She had not changed much over the years; yet her years of alone-ness had carved a bitterness into her. The desolation of her loveless life was as sad as the desolation of the houses. And she, like Cornwall, was once very young, and almost pretty. But now, like the town, she appeared as forbidding as a past without a future.
    Sarah’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Father Francis Connen. She heard his old Ford a long way off. It had lost its exhaust pipe a long time ago, and its asthmatic motor was well known to everyone. She wondered if he had come to talk her into staying on with the choir. She liked the young priest very much, and it would be terribly difficult for her to refuse him anything. “She’s a beauty!” Father Connen was saying over his shoulder as he patted Gypsy, who came to the fence to greet him. “How does she behave when you ride her?”
    “Pretty well so far, Father,” Sarah answered, “but I’m afraid that the longer I have her, the more spoiled she’ll become.”
    “Do you ride her western?”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “Would you mind if I tried her out? ”
    “Of course not! “ She was surprised that he rode. But she was even more surprised when he only put the bridle on Gypsy and jumped on her bareback.
    “I’ve never ridden with a saddle on,” he explained. “And don’t worry, Mrs. Tierney. We’ll take it easy. I know all about walking the horse for the first mile. But I don’t promise you that I won’t give her a fair amount of exercise.”
    Sarah stood looking after them—the priest in his shiny black suit sitting straight and proud, Gypsy prancing high. It must be wonderful, she thought, to ride a horse bareback, but I’m afraid I’ll never be able to do that. I will keep on holding to the horn of that saddle for safety. I’ll never get over this fear.
    The priest came back toward her, holding Gypsy easily, the reins loose, the horse walking now without nervousness.
    “If you go to my car,” Father Connen said, “you’ll find a copy of
The Horseman’s Encyclopedia
on the front seat. I brought it for you. I think it’s tired of being wedged between
The Life of St. Anne
and
Reflections on Spiritual Life
. I hope you’ll find it as profitable as I did when I had a horse.”
    Before she had a chance to thank him, he let Gypsy trot away. Even at a trot, she marveled, he kept his seat. She got the book out and looked through it, and was very happy to discover that it contained a tremendous amount of information about horses, their care, and how to ride them. She began to read it, starting with “Accidents,” and was on “Harness Racing” when Father Connen returned. Gypsy was in a lather and Father Connen was exclaiming, “What a wonderful horse! What a truly wonderful horse!”
    Together they walked to cool Gypsy off.
    “Margaret Evans called me,” Father Connen said, “and of course she went on and on about your quitting the choir.”
    “I’ve always hated it,” Sarah said with a smile, “and now that I’ve got such a perfect excuse—”
    “I don’t blame you. I too hate that miserable choir.” They both laughed. “Don’t give it another thought. I only hope that with you gone maybe they’ll start dissolving the whole thing. I’ve never had enough courage to ask them to. I’ll try to talk to Margaret and suggest she just play the organ and forget about those voices.”
    “I’ll help you talk her into it as soon as she has a chance to forget how