Golden Gate Park Polo Field
San Francisco, 1946
Clarice watched the “cowboy” lead the flea-bit grey horse out from the rental stables. She’d wanted to ride since childhood, particularly after hearing so many tales from Mommy and Daddy about her French equestrienne grandmother, Claire. No one in the family kept horses anymore, although there were photos of Grandmere ’s precious Robespierre and Talleyrand in the family album. With the war on, there hadn’t been any opportunities. Today, Mommy would give Clarice her first lesson.
The horse didn’t look like much compared to Grandmere’s Appaloosa and dappled grey drafter, that was for sure. She (Clarice looked) was a little on the skinny side and could probably have benefited from some of Grandmere’s feed mixtures. Mommy said Grandmere was very particular about caring for the horses; it was with great reluctance that she stopped keeping them.
Mommy swung up on her own horse, a big red chestnut. Mommy’d been riding since she was a tiny girl, taught by a Rom uncle and Grandmere. She looked at home in that great big saddle, with her shiny boots and breeches. Mommy’s silver-streaked black hair was pulled back from her face; her smile was broad indeed. Clearly she’d missed riding, too.
“Let me help you up.”
Clarice noticed that the cowboy/rental attendant was a nice-looking fellow not too much older than her fifteen years.
“Just put your left foot in the stirrup.”
Clarice did as she was told, standing on the ball of her food. “I don’t think I can make it,” she said.
“Bend your right knee,” he said and, with both hands, boosted Clarice into the saddle with ease.
Mommy legged her horse over to where Clarice waited as the young man adjusted her stirrups.
“We won’t go faster than a walk,” Mommy promised. “You’ll know how hard we worked tomorrow, though.”
She wheeled the chestnut gelding around and headed toward the bridle path.
“What’s your name?” the attendant asked Clarice.
“I’m Clarice; my mom is Veronique.” She stuck an errant red curl behind her ear.
“I’m Billy. You ask for me when you come back and I’ll help you get down. Spirit’s a good girl; she’ll behave herself on the trail.”
Clarice thanked him and followed Veronique down the trail.
Billy watched them ride out of sight and then went back to the stable. He had more horses to lead out, and a lot of time to think about the auburn-haired girl taking her first ride.