“Dad was an exception to his own rules. That was part of his charm,” Lucia said, giggling.
The trail ride was at a stable outside Beaufort. The property backed up to the Coosaw River and stretched through a forest so thick with live oaks and Spanish moss that the light came through in shafts. It was green and gold and quiet, like a cathedral.
Claire had found the place online, of course. She’d read fourteen reviews, called the owner twice, and confirmed that the horses were gentle and the trails were scenic. She also wanted to make sure there was no prior experience required, since none of them had any.
Nina had been on a horse one time at a birthday party when she was nine. The horse had walked in a circle in a fenced ring for ten minutes, and she thought it was the most thrilling experience of her life.
Harper had never been on a horse and had said, when told about this month’s adventure, “I manage $200 million portfolios. I can certainly manage a horse.”
Claire had decided not to respond to this comment.
The stable owner was a woman named Gail, with a weathered face and the authority of someone who had definitely spent her life taking care of more animals than people. She wore boots and a sun-bleached hat and spoke to the horses in a low voice that suggested they were her preferred conversation partners.
“This one’s Clementine,” Gail said, bringing a brown mare to Nina. “She’s steady. She won’t spook, and she’s a good listener.” She looked at Nina. “You ride before?”
“Once, when I was nine. Um, it was a pony.”
“Close enough,” Gail said, handing her the reins. “Just let her know you’re there. She’ll do the rest.”
Claire got a dappled gray one named Biscuit, which she found very delightful.
Harper got a tall bay named General, which she found terrifying. “We will understand each other,” Harper told the horse. It was more of a demand than anything else.
General blinked at her, probably not impressed by her corporate title.
They mounted with varying degrees of grace. Nina managed it on the second try. Claire needed a stepstool and encouragement from Gail, who said to just swing her leg over like she was getting onto a tall bicycle. That was only helpful if you had spent your whole life riding tall bicycles.
Harper mounted General with the confidence of a woman who had maybe watched a YouTube video the night before and thought she was fully trained.
“Y’all ready?” Gail asked from her own horse, which was a calm black gelding.
“Ready,” Nina said.
They entered the trail.
The forest closed around them. Live oaks arched overhead, their branches heavy with moss. The path was wide enough for two horses side by side. The ground was just packed dirt and sand, and the only sounds were the clop of hooves and the occasional crack of a branch somewhere in the canopy above, which was a little scary.
The river appeared through breaks in the trees, smelling of salt and mud and that particular Lowcountry sweet smell of late summer.
Nina found that being on a horse was its own kind of meditation. The rhythm of Clementine’s walk was steady and hypnotic, and it loosened places in Nina’s body she didn’t even know were tight. She wasn’t in control. The horse was in control. All Nina had to do was sit and move with it and trust that Clementine knew exactly where she was going.
There was a lesson in that, probably. Nina was learning not to force lessons anymore. They came when they came.
They rode in single file through a narrow stretch. Moss hung so low that it brushed their shoulders. Nobody talked for a full five minutes, but it wasn’t an empty silence. It was the kind of silence that only exists in nature. Nina breathed it in and felt her chest expand.
The trail widened at a clearing near the riverbank, and Gail stopped and told them they could walk the horses side by side for a while. Nina brought Clementine alongside Claire’s Biscuit, and Harper guided General up the other side. And the three of them rode together through the forest with the river on their left and the moss above, the August sun warm on their shoulders.
“This is the most peaceful thing we’ve done,” Claire said. Her voice was low.
“It’s the least terrifying thing we’ve done,” Harper said.
“Is that a complaint?”
“No, I’m just saying that I’m on a horse in a forest and I’m not screaming for my life. So this is progress.”
General snorted, which made it seem like he was laughing at them.
They rode in silence for another stretch as the river widened and osprey circled overhead, folding their wings, diving, and coming up with fish. Nina thought about the pelicans and David. The way that the Lowcountry seemed to always teach her the same lesson. Commit, dive, trust that there’s something down there worth reaching for.
