by Horsey at Heart, age 14

He could never forgive himself.

After that day, he hadn’t smiled at anyone. Not once. It was unbearable to be around horses, though they were a part of his life. Finally, he shut himself up in his house, and swore to himself that he would never go out again. His wife would just sit in the kitchen and cry, and he could hear her through the floorboards, adding to his grief.

He wasn’t quite sure what had made him go outside that night. The sky was dark and starry, and wispy clouds floated across the sky. Though the horses were in the stables for the night, there was the faint smell of horse wafting in the clear, evening air.

Kathie skipped up next to him, silent as the breeze. He looked down, then looked again, and then let out a cry of joy and scooped her up in his arms, holding her tightly as if that could fill the empty space in his heart. She was cold, though, cold as ice, and by the time he put her down his teeth were chattering.

“Hi Daddy!” she said, cheerfully, as if they had only been separated for an hour.

“Kathie!” he replied, still overjoyed. “How did you get here? I thought you were—”

He stopped himself abruptly, but Kathie didn’t notice.

“Oh, I’m not here to stay,” Kathie said, a little sadly. “I can’t. I’m here for just a little while.” She looked around. “Where’s Jim-Jim?”

“Jim-Jim,” he repeated, feeling sadness overcome him. “Oh, sweetheart, Jim-Jim isn’t here anymore. He—you both…died. Over that jump.”

He pointed at the jump, the thing that he had cursed, that he had hated for so long.

Kathie frowned for a moment, as if confused. Then her face cracked in a huge grin. “Don’t joke like that, Daddy! There’s Jim-Jim!”

He turned around, shocked, as a vague shape galloped towards them. It was white, so white it could be a star, and shimmered slightly, almost like water, or fire, or smoke. It was Jim-Jim. The horse his daughter had loved so much.

“Jim-Jim!” Kathie squealed, running over to him. Jim-Jim lowered his head to Kathie, and as she hugged him, he nibbled at her hair affectionately. It was so familiar that he felt like crying. It was almost as if the accident had never happened, never broken apart his life.

“Daddy!” Kathie waved at him. “Give me a leg-up!”

He came over to her, and instead heaved her up in his arms onto the horse’s back, shivering slightly from the cold. Kathie leaned forward, playing with Jim-Jim’s mane. “Come on, Jim-Jim!” she said. She moved him into a trot towards the corral. He followed, suddenly feeling a sense of dread. What was she doing?

After fumbling with the latch, she swung the gate open and then shut it behind her. He stood over by the fence; heart beating wildly as she trotted him around the corral, and then urged him into a canter. It was too familiar. It was happening all over again. She turned in, heading her pony towards the jump—the jump that had killed her.

Jim-Jim was going fast now, Kathie leaning forward, intense concentration written over both their faces. They were almost to the jump.

“KATHIE!” he screamed—the way he had screamed so long ago. But this time, Jim-Jim didn’t stumble and crumple. Kathie didn’t scream. Instead, Jim-Jim’s front legs folded up neatly, his back legs springing him off the ground, and Kathie leaned forward in a smooth two-point. Everything was going in slow-motion, and they looked so right together. Kathie had such an expression of pure joy that his own heart swelled, almost bursting open.

Then they landed, cantering around the corral again, then stopping in front of the gate. Kathy had a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Did you see us, Daddy?” she asked, excited. “Did you see us jump?”

He smiled back. “Yes, sweetheart. It was the most beautiful, most perfect jump I’ve ever seen.” And it was true. It was from his heart.

Jim-Jim pricked up his ears, listening intently to something in the air. He nickered softly to Kathie, and her face turned sad. “We have to go,” she said, looking over at him with big, sad eyes.

He said nothing, just stepped up to Jim-Jim, leaning over him and hugging Kathie tightly. Suddenly he didn’t feel as sad anymore. He felt lightened, like a heavy load had been lifted off him. He let go of Kathie, and they smiled at each other. “Bye, Daddy!” she called, urging Jim-Jim into a canter. They seemed a blur, pure motion, riding out across the prairie until they were a speck, then nothing at all.

He could hear her laugh in the distance.

He stayed there, smiling. His wife came out, surprised to see him standing outside after so long. They stood next to each other silently, as dawn began to rise. “I was sure that I heard Kathie laugh,” she said softly finally, looking in the distance.

“You did,” he said, staring out as well. She tipped her head up at him, surprise in her eyes.

“I saw her,” he said.

“You did?”

He nodded. He looked down at her and smiled. “And she’s fine, honey. She’s at peace.”

He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, tears filling her eyes, as the sun began to rise. In the stables the horses were stirring, and inside them as well—the stirring of happy old memories, and the stirring of wishes and hopes for the future.