“Hey, Charlie, they’re here!” Her mom exclaims, a smile bright on her face. With excited waves for Charlotte to come over, she walks backward, toward the gate around their module yard.
Charlotte has been able to control her impulse to brood, but some days are more difficult than others. This has been one of those days so far, but she knows it’s about to get a whole lot better.
She races for the gate, then laughs when her mother grabs her hand and nearly drags her toward the waiting golf cart. The little vehicle tilts radically as her mother takes a turn too quickly, but her laugh is infectious. Within moments, they round the corner to the newest building in their camp. A stable.
Tabitha brakes too hard, then they both leap out and jog toward the fence around the riding ring. Two large horse trailers have pulled into the area and four handlers are unloading and soothing the newly arrived horses. They gentle them and lead them around to regain their legs. Soon, they’ll offer a treat or two and introduce them to their new home.
In a few days, the women of the camp will be able to ride. Tabitha signed both of them up to teach riding lessons and as volunteers to care for the animals. Charlotte looks at her mother and sees real joy. Her face is beaming, her smile so big it nearly glows.
“Oh, look at that one, Charlie! I want to ride him. Now that’s a fine horse, right there.”
Charlotte watches each horse. They’re a truly beautiful group, all probably pricey and possessing flawless pedigrees. But they aren’t the right horse. Not the Warmblood, not the Tennessee Walker, and not the agile, fine-boned Arabian prancing out her irritation at being in a horse trailer. None of them set her heart alight. Only one horse can do that and he’s gone. Charlotte keeps the smile on her face, not wanting her mother to see the disappointment there.
It’s only as the rear trailer unloads that she sees something that stirs her. A horse a little shorter than the Arabian, but more sturdily built. The same light chestnut coat, the same dark mane. As the handler leads him around the trailer, so that he faces the watchers at the fence, she sees a similarity in the warm, large eyes and soft face.
She gasps, and Tabitha slips an arm around her shoulders. “He looks like Scoot, Mom!”
“Well, he’s about thirty years younger, but yes, he sure does. It took a long time to find just the right one.”
For the first time in years, Charlotte isn’t worried about anyone seeing her cry. The handler responds to a wave from Tabitha and leads this new horse in a long slow circle around the ring. He’s still recovering and settling down, so this isn’t the time for Charlotte to run up and start hugging him. It will only unsettle him more.
Still, she enjoys watching him. He even moves like Scoot, with those same strong joints that speak of agility and a stance that speaks of a desire to do something fun and challenging.
As the handlers finish settling all the horses in, Tabitha leans her cheek on the rail of the fence and smiles at Charlotte. “Happy?”
She doesn’t have to wonder anymore if she did the right thing in hiding the photographs and her suspicions. She is happy, but more importantly, she can see how happy her happiness makes her mother. It’s a circle of happiness she can either keep going, or that she can destroy with words. She wants that happiness. Whatever the truth really is, it can wait for now. Maybe, in a way, the truth is what they make it.
“Yes, I’m happy, Mom. Thank you for this.”
Willa
The battle will be today. There’s no question of that. Yesterday, they waited all day hidden in the trees where the men’s new camp has been staked out. It shouldn’t have taken so long for them to pack up their old camp. It’s a three-hour hike for a person in reasonable shape, but clearly, this group isn’t ambitious in their movements.
This time, the scout has reported that they’re moving. More importantly, they’re moving in a straggling group. Given that the men have been acting as hunters and searchers, it probably hasn’t entered their minds that the tables can turn. It’s unlikely they consider the fact that they can become the hunted.
What Willa doesn’t know is if the second group of men is following as Claire directed in that note. It’s been discussed and no one feels confident either way. From one perspective, this group of men is supposed to possibly walk into a trap because a note written by someone unknown told them to do so. It seems silly when said out loud.
If it had been the tribe receiving such a note, Willa would say, “Yeah, right, I’ll just hop right on that after I take a nice nap and jump off the turnip truck.”
On the other hand, that group of men is smaller and clearly in conflict with the larger group. They need an ally, a friend in battle. Would they understand or believe that this was their shot? If they could follow and not be seen, then they might show up.
Either way, Willa can’t be sure they’ll be there, so Bee has organized her best bow wielders in the trees opposite the main force. They can only hope it will be enough for any of the men who run for the trees after the battle begins.
She can feel her hands growing sweaty, so she
