like to buy something for a horse,” the old woman said, and David, glancing at her profile, noticed that she had blushed. “But I don’t seem to understand what is being sold and how to bid.”
“What would you like to buy?” Lee asked.
“Well …” she hesitated. “Everything that a horse might need.”
“What kind of a horse do you have? ”
“I haven’t got one. Not yet. That’s why I’m here. To buy one.”
“You’re sure putting the cart before the horse.” They both laughed at that, and David turned his face away from them and toward the auction floor.
“Are you looking for a western or an English horse?” Lee asked.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, and after a moment added, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know the difference.”
David shifted in his seat, and the woman turned toward him and smiled. He did not return the smile but instead looked directly in front of him at a man who was reading a newspaper. What would an old woman want with a horse? he wondered angrily.
“Who are you buying the horse for?” his father asked, and he heard the woman catch her breath. David waited for her to answer, and when she finally did, her voice seemed louder than she had intended it to be.
“For myself.”
It was funny, David thought, but in a way that could not be laughed at. Her brave admission was a fine thing, the sort of thing adults rarely did. She could have lied.
“Then,” his father was saying, “I think I know the horse for you. I saw it a few minutes ago. It looked very gentle, and it’s a mare, not young, mind you, but she’s still got a lot of life in her. The man who was selling her said that she rides both English and western. I’d say you should get yourself a western saddle. They’re much more comfortable to ride in, and you can always get an English one later on.”
He was telling her about the chestnut mare! Ever since he had seen her, David had hoped desperately that something would happen, that something might be said, by his father or by him. He wanted that horse! It was exactly the kind of horse that he had always hoped he would meet and own. That horse alone would change his whole life. If he only had it, nothing would matter. He could go on living in Vermont forever. His school, the house, his father, he could no longer hate anything, he would no longer have time to hate. But his thoughts suddenly filled him with an angry sadness. He was mad at himself for wanting that animal so much, mad for being ready to be “bought” back into living happily. And he was sad because they were now talking about getting a used saddle and all the other things the mare would need. And he knew it was too late for wishing. The old woman and not he would have the mare.
“If you want,” his father was saying to the woman, “I’ll bid on the tack for you. I know a good buy when I see it. Although from up here it would be hard to tell. We should go down and stand by the auctioneer, and we could examine the things we buy.”
“Oh, could we do that?”
“Sure,” Lee said and leaned across the woman. “David, let’s go down.”
He did not look up at his father.
“I’d rather stay here,” he said.
“We’ll need you,” his father said with firmness, and David got up and followed them out.
“By the way,” his father said and extended his hand to the woman, “my name’s Lee Earl and that’s my son, David.”
“I’m Sarah Tierney,” she said, shaking his father’s hand. “Hello, David.” But he had already passed them and pretended not to have heard.
“This is a sort of busman’s holiday for me,” Lee said quickly as if to distract the woman from David’s impoliteness. “I do blacksmithing around Middle-bury.”
“Middlebury!” the woman cried happily. “It’s not far from where I live. I have a farm near Cornwall.”
“If you buy a horse then I’ll probably be shoeing it. There’s no one closer to you that I know of.”
“That’s
“What would you like to buy?” Lee asked.
“Well …” she hesitated. “Everything that a horse might need.”
“What kind of a horse do you have? ”
“I haven’t got one. Not yet. That’s why I’m here. To buy one.”
“You’re sure putting the cart before the horse.” They both laughed at that, and David turned his face away from them and toward the auction floor.
“Are you looking for a western or an English horse?” Lee asked.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, and after a moment added, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know the difference.”
David shifted in his seat, and the woman turned toward him and smiled. He did not return the smile but instead looked directly in front of him at a man who was reading a newspaper. What would an old woman want with a horse? he wondered angrily.
“Who are you buying the horse for?” his father asked, and he heard the woman catch her breath. David waited for her to answer, and when she finally did, her voice seemed louder than she had intended it to be.
“For myself.”
It was funny, David thought, but in a way that could not be laughed at. Her brave admission was a fine thing, the sort of thing adults rarely did. She could have lied.
“Then,” his father was saying, “I think I know the horse for you. I saw it a few minutes ago. It looked very gentle, and it’s a mare, not young, mind you, but she’s still got a lot of life in her. The man who was selling her said that she rides both English and western. I’d say you should get yourself a western saddle. They’re much more comfortable to ride in, and you can always get an English one later on.”
He was telling her about the chestnut mare! Ever since he had seen her, David had hoped desperately that something would happen, that something might be said, by his father or by him. He wanted that horse! It was exactly the kind of horse that he had always hoped he would meet and own. That horse alone would change his whole life. If he only had it, nothing would matter. He could go on living in Vermont forever. His school, the house, his father, he could no longer hate anything, he would no longer have time to hate. But his thoughts suddenly filled him with an angry sadness. He was mad at himself for wanting that animal so much, mad for being ready to be “bought” back into living happily. And he was sad because they were now talking about getting a used saddle and all the other things the mare would need. And he knew it was too late for wishing. The old woman and not he would have the mare.
“If you want,” his father was saying to the woman, “I’ll bid on the tack for you. I know a good buy when I see it. Although from up here it would be hard to tell. We should go down and stand by the auctioneer, and we could examine the things we buy.”
“Oh, could we do that?”
“Sure,” Lee said and leaned across the woman. “David, let’s go down.”
He did not look up at his father.
“I’d rather stay here,” he said.
“We’ll need you,” his father said with firmness, and David got up and followed them out.
“By the way,” his father said and extended his hand to the woman, “my name’s Lee Earl and that’s my son, David.”
“I’m Sarah Tierney,” she said, shaking his father’s hand. “Hello, David.” But he had already passed them and pretended not to have heard.
“This is a sort of busman’s holiday for me,” Lee said quickly as if to distract the woman from David’s impoliteness. “I do blacksmithing around Middle-bury.”
“Middlebury!” the woman cried happily. “It’s not far from where I live. I have a farm near Cornwall.”
“If you buy a horse then I’ll probably be shoeing it. There’s no one closer to you that I know of.”
“That’s
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