He mumbled his thanks as she put the plate before him, and waited until she was seated with her food as well. They ate in companionable silence, each focusing on their thoughts and only occasionally speaking aloud. "I need to go to the fabric shop tomorrow. I need more edging for the craft ladies"
"Well that's fine. I need to get oil for the tractor. We can go together."
"Mmhhm", she said.
By the time he was finishing the peas, scooping them up with his fork, he realised he had forgotten to tell her. "I'm going for a ride after dinner, up to the top of the Rise."
She looked up from her plate for a moment, "Is everything alright?"
He grinned slightly, "Yes, don't worry. It's a full moon, and a clear sky. I'll take the gelding."
"As long as you're alright." and she held his gaze for a moment before returning to slicing the chicken breast with her delicate, deft movements.
Standing in the doorway, shrugging on his coat against the cool night, he turned, "I'll only be an hour or so." She looked him in the eye, but spoke calmly, "Ok. Be careful, you're riding at night."
"When am I ever not careful?"
She huffed with derision; "Too often to count!", but she reached out and squeezed his arm before he left.
Walking out of the stable a few minutes later, he didn't hold the gelding's reins. Trooper knew the score, and ambled quietly behind him, once reaching out and nudging the old man's shoulder in a friendly, gentle reminder that he was there. The reins were looped over his neck, and he was saddled, ready to go. The old man stopped half way along the railing, and the horse took a few more steps, before stopping. Once he would have swung himself up and settled into the saddle, but age and stiffness meant that it was easier to climb up from a box these days. The gelding stood patiently as he slowly climbed aboard, then took a minute to settle himself.
"Walk on!"
The pair moved into the night.
The Moon had cleared the low hills to his right by the time he reached the track up to the Rise, the highest point on the property. The Autumn sky was so clear, and the moon at its full so bright, that the stars were drowned in its brilliance, and it cast shadows as sharp as paper silhouettes as man and horse moved seamlessly from a walk to a smooth and comfortable canter, the white clay of the track almost shining in the moonlight.
They reached the top of the Rise as the moon was halfway up the sky, dominating the night like a compelling presence, but man and horse had no eyes for it. As they crested the hill they were met with the view the old man had come to see. Across the distance between their vantage and the horizon spread a sea of light... city lights. Trooper was blowing, not hard, but enough to give him the excuse to rest, to stop and take in the blanket of illumination under the silver sky. He sat, looking, mapping in his mind the places that once were there but no longer existed. Over there, by the top of that hill, that was O'Brien's place, they had sold years ago. That block of lights which must be an industrial area, that was McIlroy's, who had no choice but to sell when the bank foreclosed. There on the valley floor, that was Joy's old place. Martin Joy had committed suicide after his wife died, and he couldn't fight the developers any more. That had been a hard time, he remembered. He had become depressed himself. He and Martin had grown up together, had helped each other with stock work, harvest, planting, fire and flood. If Martin couldn't cope, how could he?
Trooper had slowed his breathing, and he felt the horse settle under him, felt him cock one back foot as he relaxed. His ears, he noted, had splayed as he went into the semi-doze that horses can adopt at short notice. Trooper was calm and half-asleep. The old man envied him, the ability to forget everything and just accept the surroundings. He closed his eyes, and, as he was wont to do in times of stress, he remembered his father.
It was here, on top of the Rise, that his father had prepared him to take on the inheritance he had always wanted. The difference was, they had not faced this way, but inward, looking over the property, on a Summer afternoon over forty years before.
"You know that I'm about ready to give up doing this, don't you?" his father had said, "A lot of men hang on too long, and leave a mess behind when they go suddenly. I don't want that for you."
That was how his father had been, matter of fact, but also considerate and forward looking.
Suddenly he flinched, and Trooper, startled, gave a jump. Unconsciously the old man calmed him and stared across the lights...forward looking...his father was forward looking.
He had forgotten the rest of his parent's advice, for all these years, he had forgotten, and now they suddenly held an importance that he had never realised.
His father had sat on an ugly, grey, half-Clydesdale with massive feet and a broad back. He was clumsy and wilful, but he would go all day, and then some...and he adored his owner. His father looked down from his massive mount and said; "You know, this place is not the same as when I got it. Things have changed, and not all of it is my doing. You can make sure some things stay the same, and sometimes you need to, but other things are beyond your control." He had paused then, and looked solemn. "I made a few mistakes, and you will too, but if you don't let the mistakes take you over, you will be alright."
"And one more thing....some things you can't control, and sometimes the best you can do is try and manage them."
"You know what, Troop?" The gelding's ears flicked around, "We're gonna be alright." The old man leaned around, guiding the horse,"Let's head home."
When they reached the flat, he let the horse have his head. He knew he shouldn't, as letting a horse loose heading for home was asking for trouble, but he was exhilarated, and wanted to let it out. He leaned forward in the stirrups and dropped the reins along his neck, felt the horse gather beneath him, then unleash the power, as his ears flattened, and his body dropped into the gallop. The gelding let him know that he still had it, and when he finally pulled him up, just shy of the laneway, they were both exhausted and panting. Walking up to the box, Trooper stopped to let him slide off. The old man limped into the stable, took off his tack, walked him, brushed him, rugged him, and headed toward the light in the house, where Amy waited for him.
Amy would smell the horse sweat and scold him for being a fool, but he would hold her and tell her that it was all right. They would last another season, and then, if they couldn't change it, they would manage. They would always manage. Somehow.
