2 - The Heart of a Horseman

We meet Maeve and Todd Allen in Edinburgh, 1980

Shannon W Haynes

Sep 14, 2024

Things That Can’t Be Broken is a novel presented as a live draft, one chapter every week.

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Part 1 | History is an Angel

2 - The Heart of a Horseman

Maeve Allen

June 29, 1980

Edinburgh, Scotland

Maeve’s heart bolted at the pre-dawn ring. The glowing numbers on the flip-clock read 3:43 AM; it could not be anything good. Todd grabbed the phone on the bed stand before the second ring finished. Maeve strained to hear but could not make sense of the heavy Scottish accent on the other end.

Todd grumbled, “Mmhmm. Aye,” making several grunts of acknowledgment before announcing, “On my way.”

He put down the receiver and looked back toward Maeve, who was still propped on her elbows between the warm white sheets, wishing for another hour of sleep. In a low gravelly croak, he said, “Grianach is doon. Jeremy awoke t’ ‘im thrashing aboot. He cannae get him t’ stand.”

Grianach had shown signs of mild colic in recent months, but this sounded serious. It was more than a little rattling imagining the horse in such severe pain that he was unable to stand. Maeve and Todd were both bleary-eyed but dressed, booted, and in the car before sunrise. The drive to the stable was tensely quiet.

A horse with colic may cause damage to his intestines when he tries to relieve the discomfort by rolling violently on the ground. As the resident groom, part of Jeremy’s responsibilities included keeping an ear out for anything amiss in the broodmare barn below his apartment. There were no broodmares ready to foal, so Grianach was housed there, simply as a precaution, because he had recently had a mild bout of colic.

All the horses at Glenpark Farm were dear to them, but Grianach was one-of-a-kind. A retired athlete with a lovable personality, he had a set of loyal fans after his lengthy career as a winning showjumper, which stretched well into his twentieth year. Even now, at twenty-five, he had the sleek coat and clear eyes of a much younger horse, if a bit gray around the edges.

The gelding was Todd’s endearing first love, a window into his boyish heart. Maeve loved the sound of the Scottish Gaelic name when Todd said it, such a masculine warrior-like sound. GREE-Ah-nahk. When Todd first introduced her to the tall warmblood, he had looked up at the horse, doe-eyed, and told her the name meant “sunshine”. That knowledge had instantly and permanently produced a child’s voice in her head, singing: You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray . . . That may have been the moment she fell in love with the man.

He was going to be devastated when the end came. Please God, not yet.

When they arrived at the stable, they went straight to Grianach’s stall. Young Jeremy gave them a worried look, which quickly changed to astonishment when the big bay stood up as if rudely awakened from a good sleep, sweet-smelling pine shavings clinging to his mane. Jeremy shrugged. The horse seemed quite alright.

Todd walked Grianach while Maeve prepared him a warm bran mash, which the tall horse ate happily from the bucket. That was a very good sign. He seemed fine, if a bit low energy. Todd stroked the horse’s neck as he munched, then announced, “I’m gonna call Dr. McIntyre an’ see if he can get by here t’day.”

“Not as an emergency though?” Maeve asked.

“Nae, he seems fit, but I’ll sleep better if I can get the doc to check him for honesty afore we leave t’day.”

Honesty indeed. The horse was an effective liar. Maeve had seen Grianach jump a full course to near perfection just hours before an abscess erupted on the sole of his left front hoof, which had to be extremely painful. The horse would do anything to please Todd. He would walk through fire, as they say.

“Sounds like a good plan,” she said. It was a worthy expense.

The day kept going nonstop from there. It was a Saturday, and Maeve had a full back-to-back load of private riding lessons—one every ninety minutes. Todd was just as busy. When she caught a glance of him, he was either walking Grianach, as a precaution to keep his gut moving, or engrossed in tending to a faulty waterer, or a chewed post.

The full schedule of lessons was a blessing. Few were so lucky to live their dreams as they did, and Glenpark was a top-notch sport horse farm. Yet some days she questioned her career choice. Catering to over-privileged teens had become tedious at times. Most of her students were loath to pick a hoof, let alone scrub a water bucket, or pitch a pile of manure into a wheelbarrow.

Her first student of the day, Sophie, was by far the exception to that complaint. She soaked up every word and suggestion, and always spent an extra hour or two tending to her horse, cleaning tack, or offering to help Maeve. Snowdrop was a champion due in no small part to the mutual respect they shared. They gave each other courage in competition—a true team.

Dierdre, on the other hand, was a constant source of irritation. Maeve tried everything to inspire her, but her ambition did not reach beyond her own social status. Far too superior to ever be seen with a speck of dirt on her breeches, Deirdre habitually arrived too late to groom. This day was no different, Maeve would do the honors. Sure enough, she arrived just in time to grudgingly hop aboard her extraordinary Dutch Warmblood mare for the last forty-five minutes of her lesson time. They never truly connected. The girl went through the motions in view of her classmates but learned absolutely nothing from lesson to lesson.

A few months back, Maeve tried simply waiting for Deirdre to arrive, leaving her mare ungroomed in her stall, knowing that when she arrived late there would only be time to teach her how to properly groom and care for her horse. The spoiled child did show up late, as expected, but Maeve’s plan was unsuccessful. Deirdre’s indignant father blew up in an embarrassing storm of anger. His anger only escalated when Maeve tried to explain that the grooming lesson would help the girl bond with the incredible animal she rode, making them a better team in the arena.

The resulting lecture from Francis, the farm’s owner, was not the first time Maeve had been reminded that she was well-paid and quite replaceable. Francis warned her to keep the students, and especially their parents, happy at all times. “Once you have your own farm, you can do as you please.” Yada yada.

Maeve’s afternoon lesson with Hilda was observed by four teenage girls who showed up to watch at the fence line from the lane outside the farm. They were doing no harm. She barely noticed them until Francis bellowed, “Go home girls! No horse show today!”

During a break between lessons, Maeve found Todd up a ladder installing automatic fly-sprayers inside the barn. He looked around furtively for Francis and then asked, “Did you see the girl gang watching your lesson with Hilda?”

“The girls Francis shooed off?” Maeve asked.

Todd nodded, “Not bad kids. Respectful. They were just watching.”

“Too bad they couldn’t stay,” Maeve said.

“Ah, y’ ken Francis,” he said, prompting her.

She waggled a finger at him. “No tennis shoes or tattoos.”

“Pure nae a one to be boarding a horse here soon.” Todd went back to his installing, arms over his head.

Maeve watched for a moment and then asked him, “Do you remember when I was still in school, and we would dream of starting our own riding program on our own farm?”

“It’s nae just a dream, mo ghràdh. We will.”

“Do you think there are more kids out there, kids like Sophie, willing to learn both horsemanship and stable maintenance?” She asked, then added what was equally as important, “While keeping good grades?”

“An’ nae afraid t’ work hard?” Always his most emphasized point. He tilted his head and nodded to her, smiling. “Aye. They’re oot there, same as ye an’ me.”

“I’ve got an idea for finding them.” She was not sure why she had never mentioned it before.

“G’on then, how’s that?”

“An essay contest,” she said.

He became quiet.

“What do you think?” She asked.

“Hmm,” he put his thumb and forefinger to his stubbled chin for a moment, “Writing riders,” he laughed, “Wee Maeves, then?”

“I don’t mean to choose them for their English skills, but they should be able to communicate well enough to convince us they really want to be in the program,” she said, “And potential to go on to a university.”

“Aye,” he said, climbing down the ladder and moving it to the next stall. He did not sound as convinced as she hoped. But was that skepticism, or was he not really listening?

“And we’ll make it free—a full scholarship!” She smiled up at the ladder, scrutinizing him for a moment before walking away down the barn aisle.

By the time she reached the end of the barn aisle, he caught what she had said and shouted back, “Ye have mighty dreams, Maeve Allen!”

Of course, there was no way they could make the horsemanship program they dreamed of happen as things stood. They certainly could not make it free, what with the cost of a farm and its upkeep, let alone that of several quality horses. The idea of owning a farm was almost unfathomable by itself. But Maeve’s real quandary lay in the fact that teens with parents who could afford the horsemanship program they wanted to offer would likely benefit less than say, those who came from lower income families. She and Todd could change lives, give kids who wanted to work hard a better chance at their dreams.

Maeve loved teaching horsemanship, but she could also teach students the organizational skills they would need to increase their chances at winning college scholarships. She had helped her younger brothers get into good schools, Steven was at Stanford finishing his law degree. Todd on the other hand, had an amazing ability to relate to teens on their own level. He could bring out their self-confidence, or counsel them through personal struggles like no one else she knew.

Look at Jeremy. Just eight months ago, he was a sulking angry boy leaning against the wall in front of the grocery store, looking like trouble. Todd never flinched at his attitude. He talked to him every time they passed by, just a friendly hello. Pretty soon Jeremy began to show up. Todd put him to work carrying their groceries, treating him as if he had always known him, like a nephew or a son. Before Jeremy knew it, he was learning to change a tire, then building a practice jump from lumber, and now, working at Glenpark as a trusted employee.

Together, Maeve and Todd could make a real difference. Maybe Glenpark Farm was the place they were meant to do their work. It should be enough, but it did not feel like enough to Maeve. She knew they could do so much more.

The sun had begun to lower against the rocky green hills as Maeve wrapped up her final lesson of the day. She was drained. She crossed the cobbled courtyard toward the barn and saw that Dr. McIntyre had arrived. He was leaning into his truck with a clipboard, writing notes. She passed by without interrupting him and went to find Todd, presumably in Grianach’s stall.

Maeve entered the barn and slid the stall door open, not expecting what she saw. Grianiach’s head was low, sweat darkened his chest and the ridge behind his eyes. Todd stood behind him. She could only see his arms wrapped around the horse’s neck.

“Is that you, mo ghràdh?” Todd said, and Maeve knew instantly how much this day had changed.

“I’m here, my love.” She put a hand on his hand and squeezed it. “What did Doctor McIntyre say?”

“He’s toxic,” Todd managed, “Doc says it’s a wonder he’s standing.”

Maeve put a hand on the gelding’s forehead as she moved around him to meet Todd, who was shaking his head slowly, staring down at Grianach’s smooth dark hooves, then back up into his warm brown eyes.

“What happened? He seemed fine this morning,” Maeve said.

“A tear somewhere in his gut. Doc cannae say more withoot surgery. Must a’ happened this morn.” Todd said.

Surgery. “Grianach, what were you doing? Why were you hiding it from us?” Maeve said to the horse, stroking his neck, “We can help you, sweet boy.”

Todd turned to Maeve. He was shaking his head. “I’m nae gonna put him through that. An’ still no good odds. I . . .” Todd took a sharp breath, straining to speak the words, “Doc gave him a sedative, but he still has a lot of pain. And it will only get worse. I’ve decided. . . to put him doon.”

“Oh, Todd.” She leaned into him. His strong arms clung to her, and he squeezed her to his chest. A tear fell onto her shoulder and his breath quivered hot against her ear. She wanted to absorb his pain.

She had been away at school when her beloved Scooter, the scrappy pinto pony who was her first best friend, had to be put down. Her eyes burned and her throat tightened. But Grianach. His Grianach. How could this go so wrong so quickly?

She half-whispered, “Damned horses! They will break your heart every time.” She kissed Grianach’s velvet nose and looked into her husband’s swollen eyes. She said,“It is the right thing, Todd. It’s the hardest thing, but it is the right thing.”

Todd pressed his head to the horse’s forehead, “Ye’ve been a good lad, Grianach. Always. Such a good lad.” After a long moment, he pulled his shoulders back and took a breath, wiping a hand across his face, “Jeremy went t’ get Francis an’ call the . . . the lorry. Help me get him ootside.”

He couldn’t say “knackerman,” the British name for animal removal service. An image crossed Maeves mind of the truck’s winch and chains that would drag the body of his friend away. Her teeth gritted. Todd should not have to see that.

Grianach’s head lowered as Todd stepped away into the barn aisle. The gentle giant swayed, splaying his legs to hold himself up, then he lifted a hoof over the threshold of the stall. She moved a hand to her chest where the ache was growing, while the other hand pressed encouragement onto the gelding’s warm solid flank. She caught Todd’s eyes, steeled now in the business at hand, as he gently coaxed his boyhood hero out to the dark cobbled courtyard for the last time.

The sky was a deep purple bruise between the black silhouette of hills when they climbed into the car. A truck’s headlights gleamed as it turned toward them onto the drive. She was grateful the driver was late, allowing them plenty of time to say goodbye, and Francis was kind to wait and deal with the removal service.

Maeve and Todd shared one more long meaningful hand squeeze before Maeve turned the ignition. “It hurts,” Maeve said.

“Aye,” said Todd, “But there’d be no bliss’d pain if it weren’t for the love.”

He was right. There was no way around it. The rest of the drive home was heavily silent, both of them lost in their thoughts.

Opening the door to their flat, Todd turned to her and said, “Maeve.”

“What is it, my love?”

“I think we need a dog.” And there was that smile.

Maeve breathed out, returning his warmth. “We do.”

It was awfully quiet. Maybe it’s time to consider starting a family, flitted across her mind, but it was quickly replaced by simpler thoughts of squirming litters and puppy breath.

She picked up the small pile of mail at her feet, tucking it onto her lap, and sat in the wooden entryway chair to unlace her riding boots while considering what to put together for a late dinner. Cheese? Cold cuts?

As if in answer, she heard two whiskey glasses clunk onto the kitchen counter, then a stopper’s hollow squeak and a bottle pouring.

Of course. Whiskey it would be. Tonight, they would celebrate the life of a courageous friend. There would be stories to tell with tears and laughter.

But they would have to eat something, too. “There’s good cheese in the fridge,” she called out, “And we have bread and . . . apples.” Grianach’s favorite.

“Aye,” came from the kitchen.

As she rose, a yellow card slipped to the floor from the pile of mail on her lap. She examined it. It was a notice of an attempt to deliver certified mail from California. She dropped it in her sweater pocket.