Page 18 of Rainshadow

Flora rolled over and looked at Sylvia, who gazed at her, her eyes icy and unemotional. “This horse,” Sylvia said, turning to look at her beautiful stallion, “was born and began his training at the Spanish school in Vienna. He is worth more than…”

“I’m so sorry,” Flora pleaded. The message was clear, and Flora didn’t want to hear the rest of it, didn’t want to hearthat she wasn’t worthy of beautiful, glamorous Sylvia’s beautiful, glamorous horses.

“Just get up,” Sylvia said. “And get back on.”

They worked for hours, and Flora was thrown two more times. She felt like she was getting worse as the afternoon wore on, not better, her anxiety and her pain making her shaky. She worried she had broken a rib. Sylvia never said a single encouraging word, but neither did she scold her. When she fell, Sylvia watched with her dark-circled eyes, waiting, until she was back in the saddle.

At first, Flora was embarrassed, then she was angry. Sylvia, for whatever reason, wasn’t even able to ride her own horses, but watched bitterly as Flora at least tried. Distracted by her thoughts, she was thrown again.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” she whined, sprawled on the ground while Mars trotted around at the far side of the arena tossing his head in triumph. Her whole body felt like one giant bruise.

“You quit?” Sylvia’s voice was not just inquiring. No. It was hopeful.

For the day? Or the job? Flora didn’t know what Sylvia meant at first.

She realized, then, what was happening.

“You—” Flora said, but she didn’t finish the thought.

Sylvia was trying to make her quit.

She was going to let her ride and fall until she broke her wrist, or her neck. Flora wouldn’t though, couldn’t. She couldn’t look for another job, couldn’t humiliate herself like that again.

She peeled herself off of the arena floor, every bone and muscle screaming, and got back onto the horse.

She rode again, Sylvia watching, scowling, flicking the whip to send the horse into an elegant lateral step, his head arched perfectly, his hooves moving in a delicate dance.

Flora tugged gently on the reins and pressed her heels fluidly, in the same motion, and the horse slowed, continued trotting in place. Flora still ached, but she also felt a surge of relief, even pride. She felt it now, the way the horse and rider needed to be in sync. She loosened up on the reins and tugged gently, sending Mars into another lovely lateral trot, his long legs crossing one another like a ballerina. Then, she pressed her heels into the horse’s flank again, sending him into a canter when she only meant him to switch direction. When she yanked on the reins, Mars bucked again, and sent Flora flying to the dirt for the fifth time.

She wasn’t hurt, but she felt broken. Emotion was surging inside of her. Sadness, self-pity, and bitterness. Sylvia, with her cold eyes, had broken her. Sylvia was, Flora realized, jealous. Jealous because Flora could ride her horses and Sylvia, for whatever reason, could not. Jealous because she was still young and Sylvia was old and aging, much older, it seemed, than her gorgeous husband, and the differences were probably getting more obvious by the day. It wasn’t fair, but Flora couldn’t take it anymore.

“I don’t think I can—” she said, whimpered, to herself. She didn’t even have the strength to finish the sentence. Then, she felt a strong hand press into her arm, checking on her.

“Are you alright?”

That voice.

She rolled over, and there was Ethan, kneeling beside her. There was a look of utter concern on his face. “Are you alright, Flora?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, sitting up. “I think so. Yeah.”

Sylvia watched them wordlessly, her arms crossed.

“Let me help you up,” he said, slipping an arm around her and lifting her under the arms. He was so strong, and she felt so small and weak and helpless in his embrace. She let him right her, then stepped away a little too quickly as Sylvia strode over. All day, Sylvia had seemed tired, creaky, even old. But now she walked with purpose, as though not wanting to show even a hint of frailty.

“Stop treating her like a fragile doll. She’s perfectly fine,” Sylvia said.

“How many times were you thrown today?” Ethan asked her.

Flora looked into his eyes and felt like, for once, there was someone who wanted to protect her. “This was the fifth time.”

Ethan spun on Sylvia. “I know you can be cold,” he said, “but I didn’t think you to be cruel.”

She rolled her eyes, turned on the ball of her foot, and walked back toward the house. “Go home, Flora,” she called behind her.

“I should go,” Flora said, creaking as she bent to rub her aching ribs. “It’s going to be a long walk.”

“No, please,” Ethan said, “I can’t think of you walking home hurt. Join us for dinner, and then I’ll drive you.”

---