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her hand. She stood there for a moment watching Jonas, who was humming a soft tune as he brushed Beelzebub. With great care, she cut a wide berth around them, moving from stall to stall feeding the horses just as Jonas had instructed her. She finished with the last horse, placing the feed bucket down and touched her wounded hand, flinching. Seeing all of this out of the corner of his eye, Jonas stopped his work and went to her.
    “Alright now Charlotte, if you are going to be around horses you got to understand something. When a horse don’t know you yet, never stare ’em in the eye. And make sure when you offer your hand to a horse, it’s curled into a soft fist with your palm facing down. He led her over to Ginger, a good natured mare and demonstrated.
    “Why do you have to do that? she asked.
    “Otherwise, the horse might think your hand is a claw…that you are being aggressive towards her. That’s what old Beelzebub must have thought. That’s why he bit you. Horses are just looking for safety. If they feel safe, then you’re safe. When you approach them, you must be calm, always respectful and have the horse’s well-being in mind. They’re just like people.”
    Charlotte wanted to feel the mare’s soft coat. She closed her eyes to calm herself and thought of what Jonas had just said. She took a deep breath and began to pat Ginger’s neck.
    Jonas stopped her. “No, not that way Charlotte. Horses hate to be patted. What you need to do is rub on them firmly; stroke them following their hair. They like that.”
    Charlotte’s small hand copied Jonas’ strong stroking movement. The horse began licking and chewing.
    “There you go. Old Ginger’s relaxing. That’s how horses show they’re comfortable; they lick their mouths and chew.”
    Charlotte began to giggle, “It’s like she’s smiling, isn’t it?”
    How easy it was to make a horse smile Charlotte thought…to make them happy. Easier than people. She grabbed a handful of oats and held it up to Ginger. The horse nuzzled Charlotte when finished…pushing her lips against her with great eagerness, almost knocking her over.
    “Now what’s she trying to tell you, that mare?” asked Jonas.
    The horse’s mouth was still inspecting Charlotte’s hand. “Oh, she wants more,” she said.
    She gave her another handful of feed and stood there breathing along with Ginger. The mare raised her head and smelled Charlotte breathe, her huge nostrils working like soft bellows.
    “See there. You’re doing right,” said Jonas. “You know, everything in God’s creation has a language, and its own ways. Animals, crops, people—even the stars in the sky—all of them, shouting out their secrets every minute to anyone got eyes to see and ears to hear with. Trick is you got to pay attention. It’s like, how can you tell if that dried up old prune of a headmistress is mad at you?”
    “Well…her lips go together in a straight line, and her eyes go kind of pink all around like a rabbit, and her nose, her nose goes out like this. And she starts her sniffing.” Charlotte imitated her as best she could.
    Jonas laughed. “You got it right, much as I know. I seen her look like that as well. Now, would you go up and give her a pat on the cheek if she looked at you like that?”
    “No.”
    Jonas nodded. “Well, that’s what you did with old Beelzebub last night. He was telling you plain as day he’s not no easy friend. You just couldn’t read the signs, because they was in horse.”
    “Can you teach me horse?”
    “Well, I don’t know. Some things can’t be taught. Some you have to be born with. And some of it Charlotte, is up to the horse.”

    So Charlotte stayed under Jonas’ tutelage—for a day, then a month, and another, and another, until a year had passed.
    She approached Beelzebub with trepidation at first—learning to read him, letting him read her, allowing her body to tell him she was his friend…that she was safe. Given both their histories,