Amish Romance at Christmastime by Linda Byler

Author:Linda Byler
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781680996791
Publisher: Good Books
Published: 2020-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

TO HOLD THE REINS THAT LED TO THE MOUTH of this wonderful creature diverted her thoughts as Elam returned with an aging man, stooped at the waist, shuffling through the weeds with a pair of shoes like rowboats, laces riffling along, untied.

Without speaking, Elam led the horse to a fence, placed his hand on the post to check for sturdiness, then unhooked the rein, allowing the horse to lower his head, stretch his neck. He came back to the buggy, reached below the seat for the neck rope, tied the horse, and motioned for her to come with him.

“Elsie, this is Charlie Harris. Charlie, a friend of mine. Elsie Esh.”

Elsie was sized up by a pair of rheumy eyes that still held a brilliant blue color. He wore no eyeglasses, and his nose was crisscrossed with purple veins and pockmarks like the moon’s surface. A yellowed moustache hung above his puckered lips, the coarse white hair tangled and ungroomed.

“Hello, Elsie Esh. Pleased to meet you, I am.” His voice was soft and whispery.

“Hello. I’m pleased to meet you, too.”

“Well, good. Then we’ll go see the horse.”

Together they waited while the old man unhooked a two-by-four from a cast-iron brace, the only thing that held the door in place. When he swung the door back, the stench was overpowering, burning, an acidic odor of old, stale manure and fresh urine.

Elsie coughed, brought a hand to her mouth.

The light from the door was thrown unmercifully on the most pitiful sight Elsie could imagine.

“He’s only four years old. A magnificent palomino. My granddaughter’s. Barrel raced. Rode him at the Ohio State Fair with the Angels. He’s a wonder, this horse.”

The soft, breathy voice went on, explaining the loss of his granddaughter, the many events where she had shown the grand horse. Bewildered, Elsie tried to imagine this horse being ridden anywhere.

Elam stood, his thumbs hooked in his trouser belt, nodding, his eyes taking in everything.

The neck. Elsie had never seen a neck so thin on a horse. His head was much too large, like an oversized lollipop on a stick. Coarse hair hung from his skeletal body in long, loose tufts. His thin mane hung in sections, with burrs parting the small amounts, cruel barrettes of nature.

“His name is Gold,” the old man whispered.

Elsie looked at Elam, his face half averted, the light from the open barn door illuminating the pity in his eyes.

“Are you serious?” she whispered to him.

“Oh, yes. He was gorgeous.”

“But he’s not now.”

“Do you know what can be done with a horse like this? It’s why I brought you!”

He turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers squarely. She questioned. He answered with his sympathy.

Because we’re poor, she thought. You brought me here to show me this was all I could afford. That this place reminds you of ours. I have almost two thousand dollars. I can afford a nice horse.

She swung her arm in the direction of the opened door. “You know I don’t have the means to pay a veterinarian, or expensive minerals and top-of-the-line horse feed.

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