Excerpt: Until We Part

Celine had fully intended to get up at by seven at least. However, that hardly would be the case. She slept long and hard and woke up with her head spinning with the remnants of long, intense dreams, none of which she could recall when sleep cleared from her head. One bare foot had escaped the covers and she could feel it freezing in the morning air. Shivering, she drew it fiercely back under the blankets, rolled over on her side, and pulled the top cover over her head. Gradually she realized she could hear morning sounds coming from downstairs; the faint rumble of voices, the silver tinkling of glass and silverware. Breakfast was just to be smelled coming through the closed door. Through the dark blue of the blanket cave that she was barricaded in, she heard Aunt Kay's laugh. Well, if Aunt Kay was up, then everyone was. Everyone, that is, except her. What time was it?
Pulling the covers off her face, she squinted at the clock on the nightstand. She gasped. Ten thirty! Sitting up so fast that she was hit by a wave of dizziness, she began to struggle out of her blankets, which she realized now were tangled around her. Kicking free, she touched her feet to the merciless cold of the floor, and stepped as quickly as she could onto the braided rug that covered a great expanse of the smooth wooden boards. Finding her robe, and throwing it over her shoulders, she was drawn irresistibly to the window, and there was a beautiful sight. During the night the snow had stuck, and now was a perfect eight inches deep. It had not snowed much that winter so far; only four inches at Christmas to melt a few days later; and this was beautiful. Every black, naked tree branch was laced with a white trim. The fences wore a neat white and black striped pattern. Smooth, undisturbed snow blanketed small rolling hills that ran away out of sight. Figure eights and dancing, interwoven trails of hoof prints were all that broke the white surface in the pasture.
She tugged at the window lock, undid it, and shoved the window up with only a little difficulty. New England and Matinée, hearing the window's sound which was sharpened by the hushed snowfall, threw their heads up simultaneously, as though on cue, and looked at her. For that moment they were frozen as still as the snow-laden trees. They appeared as wild and noble as white-tailed deer, with pricked ears, great, unblinking eyes, and fine, slender legs elegantly planted in the solid ground. A fine powder of snow clung to their forelocks and had settled on their narrow backs. The stripe on New England's face glowed whiter than the snow. Girl and horses looked at each other, all three very still. Then the spell was broken. Bobbing his head, New England procured Matinée's attention, and they swiveled their heads away and relaxed.
Celine followed their glance and saw Grandpa approaching the pasture. For the second time that day he was going to break the water in their trough which had iced solid on the surface. Swinging the small pick easily from his shoulder, he opened the gate, went in, and shut it. Both horses went to him, heads bobbing in greeting, whickering softly and blowing through their nostrils. They almost danced around him and dropped their muzzles into his gloved hands. Celine watched in envy. It was as though her Grandpa were a king in another world, a fatherly king, and the animals knew this and flourished under his reign. Those horses...they loved him so much. How did he get them to become so excited at his presence? Just by breaking ice and giving them water to quench their thirst? She mused as to whether she could take inspiration from this and break the icy layers that those she knew experienced in their daily lives. Perhaps that was one way of doing good. After all every living thing needed water, for not only was there physical thirst, but spiritual thirst, and a thirst to be beloved to someone, if only one person.
Now she smiled. The mare and the stallion had followed their king, who was robed in flannels and muck boots, to the trough. They stood, one at each shoulder, like sentinels, and watched him break the ice with the greatest and most admiring of interests. She doubted that anyone could be as complementary as those two race horses at such a time.