A stunning new voice in American fiction, Sara Gruen makes a masterful debut with a novel of family, tragedy, rebirth ... and the breathtaking love of something wild.
As a world-class equestrienne and Olympic contender,Annemarie Zimmer lived for the thrill of flightatop a strong, graceful animal. Then, at eighteen, atragic accident destroyed her riding career and Harry,her beloved and distinctively marked horse.
Now, twenty years later, Annemarie is coming hometo her dying father's New Hampshire horse farm. Jobless and abandoned, she is bringing her troubled teenaged daughter to this place of pain and memory, where ghosts of an unresolved youth still haunt the fields and stables -- and where hope lives in the eyes of the handsome, gentle veterinarian Annemarie loved as a girl ... and in the seductive allure of a trainer with a magic touch.
But everything will change yet again with one glimpse of a red and white striped gelding startlingly similar to the one Annemarie lost in another lifetime. And an obsession is born that could shatter her fragile world.
"Are you ready?" says Roger as he gives me a leg up,and I laugh, because I've never been so ready in allmy life.
And Harry is, too, with his red neck flexed and hisears swiveling like antennae, but never together -- ifone is forward the other is back, although sometimesthey land impossibly out to the side, like a lop-earedgoat's. He stamps and snorts as I lower myself intothe saddle and gather the reins, and I forgive him,this time, for not standing still while I mount becausewhile it's terrible manners there are extenuatingcircumstances and I, too, cannot be still. I run thereins across the black gloves that cover my wetpalms and icy fingers and look back at my father,whose face is lined and stern, and then at Roger, whosmiles up at me with his face a perfect composite oftension, pride, and joy.
He lays a hand on my booted calf and says, "Give'em hell, babe," and I laugh again, because I haveevery intention of doing just that.
And then Marjory is leading us to the gate -- actually holding the reins, as though I can be trustedto take fences of almost five feet but not to steerHarry into the arena.
"Watch your pace going into the combination,"she says, "and don't let him rush you. Collect himsharply coming around the turn after the water jump,and if you get past the oxer and you're still clear,hold him back and take it easy because you've alreadygot it even if you take a time fault."
I nod and look across the arena at the judges becauseI know that already. We can take eight faultsand still tie for first, and if we get none or four we'vedone it, and nobody else has a hope. Marjory is stilltalking and I nod impatiently and just want to startbecause Harry and I are going to explode with theexcitement of it all, and we're ready, we're ready, oh,we're ready. But I know it's not Marjory who gets todecide so I try to remember to breathe and ignore herand suddenly it's easy, as though I'm in a wind tunneland all of everything beyond Harry and me is onthe outside.
Then I get the signal and I think that it's time togo -- think it, that's all -- and Harry goes, walkingforward so deep on the bit his nose is pressed to hischest, and as we step into the arena I can see ourshadow on the ground and his tail on end like a flag.The man on the PA introduces us -- AnnemarieZimmer on Highland Harry, with a commandinglead and yadda yadda yadda -- but no one's payingattention because they're staring at Harry. No gaspsor murmurs this time, not on day three, but thensomeone goes and wrecks it because I hear somebastard man say, "Now there goes a horse of a different color," and I know from that one remark that he'smissed days one and two and I hate him because Iknow he feels clever for the remark. But I supposeI'd say it too, since you don't see many or any stripedhorses out there, and before Harry I never knew sucha thing existed, but here he is, and there's no denyingthat. Not today. Not here.
I hear the whistle and press my calves against himand we're off. Harry shoots forward like a coiledspring, so compressed his haunches feel like they'reright under me.
I tighten my fingers, No, no, no Harry, not yet, I'lllet you, but not yet, and his ears prick forward, togetherthis time, and he says, All right, and gives me acollected canter that feels like a rocking horse, so highon the up and so low on the down. And we rockaround the corner and approach the first jump and heasks me, Now? And I say, No, and he says, Now? AndI say No, and then a stride later I can tell he's about toask again, but before he can I say Yes, and he's off andI don't have to do anything else -- won't have to untilwe're over and on the other side, and then I'll justhave to ask him again, and he'll do it because he...
