Reconciled Chp. 2: Advice to Live By

I had fun with this chapter. It has plenty of funny scenes, but it also introduces several important themes of the story. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Chapter Two

I left Johnny to his work at the barn and strode toward the back porch of our house, thinking happily of the upcoming events of the day.

I padded lightly up the wooden steps leading up to the back porch, taking care not to disturb my father, Michael. He was perched on the top step, hunched over the spiral notebook balanced on his knee, furiously scribbling down thoughts and ideas as they came to him. I don’t know why I bothered trying to be quiet, as I heartily concur with my little brother, Rory’s, sentiments that nuclear war could only leave two things undisturbed: cockroaches and Da when he was in “the writing zone.” He was a composition and literature professor at the local college, and writing was his passion. Normally Da taught classes over the summer, but for some reason he had declined to do so this year. I had been hoping he just wanted to spend more time with us, as he was normally so busy grading papers and planning lessons, but I had a sneaking suspicion he wanted to work more on the novel he had been trying to write for ages. His activity this morning did nothing to belie my fears.

“Mornin’, Da,” I whispered as I crept past him.

“Mmmmm,” was his murmured response.

Now, I’m proud that my da has something he’s good at and loves, like I have horses, and mam has music, but he tends to tune out the rest of the world when he writes. My brothers find it amusing to take advantage of Da when he gets engrossed in his writing – asking for an increase in their allowances or to stay out until two in the morning, but I’m simply baffled by his actions. I may have inherited my da’s reddish tinted hair and green eyes, but I am my mother’s daughter, with my feet firmly planted in reality. If I had my head stuck in the clouds while working with horses the way Da does when he writes, I’d be severely injured or worse. In my line of work, it just doesn’t pay to be a dreamer.

Sighing, I continued toward the house, leaving Da to chew on his ballpoint pen and gaze up at the now well-lit sky for inspiration. I opened the screen door, taking care not to let it slam shut behind me. I glanced up, seeing my mother in the kitchen singing softly to herself as she mixed ingredients for Irish soda bread in a large stainless steel mixing bowl. Crossing the black and white linoleum floor, I gently wrapped my arms around Mam’s slender waist, leaning my cheek against her long, wavy, dark brown hair.

“Practicing for tonight, Mam?” I asked.

“As you should be too, lass,” Mam responded in her lilting voice, kissing me on the top of my head. “You know your Grandda is looking forward to hearing you sing tonight.”

How could I forget? I mused, as I took a granola bar from one of the kitchen cabinets and hopped up on top of the counter for a quick breakfast. Grandda was insistent that no relative of his should be brought up devoid of an Irish traditional music background. When I was three or four, he had placed a tin whistle in my small hands in an effort to teach me the instrument, but I had instead pretended it was a riding crop, and had spent the rest of the afternoon ‘riding’ a pony around our living room. I was a horsewoman from the start, I suppose. Fortunately, though I showed little aptitude for playing an instrument, I seemed to have inherited in some measure my mother’s fine alto voice, untrained though it may be.

“Don’t worry,” I responded between bites, “Maeve and I have gotten together a couple of times to practice the song we’re singing together, and I’ve been working on the songs in the set that Grandda wants me to help out on,”

“Sounds good. Do you have any big plans for today?” Mam questioned.

“First, I’m going to take a shower and get out of these riding clothes, and then I’m going to help Johnny clean tack.”

“Oh,” she answered, raising her finely shaped eyebrows and giving me a knowing look. “I thought I heard his truck coming up the drive early this morning. Have fun, love.”

Pointedly ignoring what I knew her look to be implying, I turned away from her and climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. After taking a quick shower, I peeked out the window in my room facing the backyard, catching a glimpse of Johnny toting two wooden stools and a bucket of tack cleaning supplies out to a sunny spot alongside the schooling ring. Hastily, I pulled on a pair of worn and faded blue jeans and a faded green t-shirt, throwing my damp hair up in a messy bun as I skipped down the stairs. I selected a pair of olive green Wellies from the ever increasing pile of footwear scattered beside the screen door and slumped down on the bottom step of the stairs to pull them on my feet.

I glanced over to the kitchen, where my parents and Rory were at the table enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Da was chewing absentmindedly on a piece of toast as he worked on the newspaper crossword puzzle, and Rory, still clad in blue pajama pants and white t-shirt, his dark hair standing up every which way, sat hunched sleepily over his bowl of cereal. Mam smiled at me as she stirred her cup of tea.

“Care to join us for breakfast, Catriona?” Mam asked.

“I would, but I think Johnny’s waiting on me,” I said.

Rory glanced up from his breakfast with a smirk on his face. “Johnny? What’s he waiting on you for?

“To clean tack, little brother.”

“Well have fun, sister dear,” Rory replied sarcastically.

As I headed out the screen door, I heard my mam suppress a giggle as Rory made kissing noises. Da told him to hush, telling Rory he would understand in a couple of years. His comment made me roll my eyes and sigh. What was there to understand?

I crossed the grassy expanse that lay behind our house, breathing in deeply the fragrant smell of pine, hearing the trills of the birds singing in the maple tree that grew outside my bedroom window. I quickened my pace, seeing Johnny emerge from the barn with a bridle slung over each shoulder and a dressage saddle and girth gathered in his arms. I jogged forward to relieve him of some of his burden.

Johnny shook his head slightly as I reached out to grasp the saddle. “No, I’ve got it. It’s about time you showed up, though,” Johnny said, glancing down at his watch, then up at me with a twinkle in his dark blue eyes. “I thought you were a no-show.”

“So sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said dramatically, pushing Johnny’s shoulder lightly in mock anger.

“Apology accepted,” Johnny said, nodding his head in finality. “Let’s get to work.” He gestured toward the saddles he had already lined up along the white wooden fencing of the schooling ring.

I grabbed a sponge and a can of saddle soap from the bucket of supplies Johnny had brought out earlier. I dipped the sponge in water, then settled onto one of the stools and began rubbing the fragrant soap into my selected saddle in small circles. I glanced up to see Johnny perched on his stool, hunched over the all-purpose saddle he was cleaning. We sat in silence with our perspective tack for what seemed like hours. Not able to stand the silence any longer, I began humming quietly to fill the awkward, dead air.

“Whatcha humming?” Johnny questioned as he rubbed the saddle soap methodically into the leather.

“The song my cousin, Maeve, and I are singing at the ceili,” I replied.

“Are you nervous about singing tonight?” he asked.

“A bit, even though I know it’s just family and friends we’re performing for.”

“Nervous? The same Catriona Lloyd who can mount that big horse of hers and clear five foot oxers without batting an eye, is nervous about singing a little song in front of her supportive and caring family and friends?” Johnny questioned mockingly.

I paused at my work, pondering what he had said. “I know it sounds silly, but I just don’t want to let any of them down if I don’t sing that well. I mean, look at my mother. She can play two instruments and sing like an angel. She could practically ride circles around me when she was my age, and now she’s training horses better than anyone in the county. Look how far she’s come with Taliesin in the short time we’ve had him.”

Taliesin was the skittish, timid grey colt my mam had brought to our farm four months ago. He was her pet project at the moment, and he had certainly benefited from Mam’s gentle hand and soft voice, though Tally still had a long way to go before he’d be a safe riding prospect. We suspected he had been beaten and abused severely by his previous owners judging by the way he cowered and trembled when anyone walked by his stall at the auction. Mam, however, had seen something special in the bloodlines of the thin, nervous horse and had brought Taliesin home to see what she could make of him.

Johnny dropped his sponge in the bucket of cold water and lifted my chin up to look him directly in the eye. “Now, Triona, you listen up. This is going to sound pretty profound coming out of my mouth . . .” Johnny paused, searching for the right words. “Yes, what you said about your mom is correct. She’s a fine rider, trainer and musician to boot. I know you look up to her and want to be like her, but you can’t forget that her name is Maire and your name is Catriona. You are two different people. Don’t try so hard to be like her that you forget to be yourself.”

I contemplated what he had said to me. Who knew that Johnny McCarthy, excellent horseman that he was, was also capable of giving such sage advice? I hung my head sheepishly. “I guess you’re right. It’s just that when you come from a family of musicians and you pretty much refused to be one from an early age, you just don’t want to disappoint anyone more than you already have.”

“Ah, the infamous tin whistle story. Your Grandpa told me all about that!” Johnny exclaimed with a laugh.

“Oh, that’s it!” I shrieked, grabbing a sponge from the water bucket and launching it at Johnny. Or at least near him. Ok, maybe it wasn’t even close to hitting him, but it might have gotten him damp as it sailed over his head. Hey, nobody said my hand-eye coordination was the best.

Johnny was quick to retaliate, chucking the sponge I had missed him with back in my direction, leaving a wet splotch on my hip. He scrambled for his own sponge floating in the water bucket and started wringing it out over my head, as I squealed in protest and attempted to run away.

“I can’t imagine ole Windy taking too kindly to being urged on by a tin whistle, can you?” Johnny taunted, sending another sponge in my direction as I scrambled out of his reach.

“Johnny McCarthy, what on earth do you think you’re doing with my baby sister?” a gruff voice demanded from behind us. Johnny dropped his next missile in surprise, as I turned to face the towering figure of my oldest brother, who was trying his best to look stern and disapproving. I, of course, saw through his guise in an instant.

“Mack!” I cried, launching my sodden body into his unsuspecting arms. “Protect me from the mean boy.”

My twenty year old brother played football for his university. His full name was Mackenzie, though he preferred the monosyllabic abbreviation of his name because he thought it would sound more menacing for the opposing football teams. At six foot four and two hundred odd pounds, I don’t really think he had any difficulty intimidating any of the other teams’ players. Johnny, with his lanky, lean horseman’s build, didn’t have a hope or a prayer if my brother was ever really mad at him.

“Yeah, Catriona, I’ll protect you.” Glancing at me with a mischievous gleam in his green eyes, Mack grabbed me by the legs and slung me over one of his broad shoulders like a sack of potatoes. I began pounding uselessly on his muscular back in a vain attempt to get him to put me down.

“Free shot, Johnny!” Mack cried, shaking his shaggy dark hair out of his eyes as he threw his head back in laughter.

“Now, Mack, I couldn’t do that,” Johnny said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“I get it. It wouldn’t be fair to hit a stationary target.” With that, Mack began spinning unmercifully in swift circles.

I clasped my arms tightly around his midsection and clamped my eyes shut. “Mackenzie David Lloyd, so help me, if you don’t stop now I’m gonna puke down your back and I will not lift a finger to clean you off!”

Mack promptly stopped spinning and set me down on my unsteady legs. I stuck my tongue out at him once I regained my balance. Big brothers could be so mean.

“Oh, now, baby girl, no need to be so hateful,” Mack crooned, crushing me against his chest as he pulled me into a bear hug. “I was just teasing.”

“I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you,” I said, wriggling out of his grasp. “Did Callum come back with you?”

Mack and my nineteen year old brother, Callum, attended the same university and were sharing an apartment over the summer while Mack attended training camp for football and Callum took a couple of summer courses.

“Naw, he had a few things to finish up before he could come home. He’s going to drive the car over later this afternoon. I took the bus to Grandda and Nana’s house and rode over here with them so I could help set up for the ceili. They would love to see you whenever you’re done with whatever horsey stuff you were doing,” Mack explained. “Well, I smelled Mam baking brownies for tonight when we pulled up and I’m gonna see if she’ll let me lick the bowl!” With a childish whoop, Mack kissed the top of my head and set off at a jog toward the house. 

I turned around to see Johnny grinning at me. “I thought your brother was serious at first.  I thought he was going to pummel me!”

“Mackenzie, serious? Maybe when that saddle sprouts wings and flies away,” I said, pointing at the tack drying on the rail of the schooling ring. Sharing a laugh, Johnny and I once again settled on our stools and resumed our task of cleaning tack.

“So, are you ready for the Ark?” I asked Johnny.

The Fall Horse Trials, held at the Ark in early August, was a relatively small three-day event, though it drew many of the area’s young competitors and was good experience for larger shows, such as the Virginia Horse Trials.

“We’re getting there. Catherine’s been having Rob and me focus on dressage, since it’s his weakest area. It’s hard to believe that we only have about a month more to work,” said Johnny.

Eventing was a unique equine sport in that it combined three distinctly different areas of competition: dressage, cross country jumping, and stadium jumping. It was difficult to find a mount that excelled in all areas, and if you did, these horses carried a hefty price tag. We lesser mortals had to make do with a young horse with eventing prospects, though there was never a guarantee that your investment would pay off. Johnny and I had been lucky, though, as Rob Roy and Wind Cry were shaping into solid event horses, and we had an excellent trainer, Catherine Michaels, to guide us through the training process. 

Johnny and I talked about eventing and horses in general until all the tack had been washed and organized neatly in the tack room.

“I better go home and get cleaned up. I think your grandma would run me off if I showed up tonight smelling like horse,” Johnny explained. “Say hello to your grandparents and Callum if he’s showed up yet. I’ll see you all later tonight.”

After a few paces down the gravel driveway, Johnny paused and turned around. “Oh, and thanks for your help today. It’s a lot more fun if you have someone to talk to while you clean.”

“And throw sponges at, I’ll wager,” I said with a grin.

“That’s always an added bonus,” Johnny replied as he turned around and made his way toward his ancient Dodge Dakota pickup.

“See ya later, Johnny,” I said, waving to him as he got into his truck and headed down the driveway.