The corner of my mouth lifted in a grin. There was no need for nervousness. I had three minutes to show the judges I knew something valuable, and dammit, that was what I was going to do.
“This evening I’ll be demonstrating how to properly clean and mount a leather saddle,” I said, focusing on the judges seated on the raised dais: they were the people who mattered right now.
“The first thing you want to do is properly prepare everything so you don’t get soap and water on any part of the saddle that could easily rust.”
I began my ministrations, methodic but quick, and though at first the audience seemed confounded that this was my talent, within a few seconds, I sensed a few of them leaning forward, actually interested. The cameraman angled around so he could zoom in on my hands, and a hush settled across the room. I unbuckled and removed the saddle’s fittings, chatting as I did each evening with Bella, pretending that I was bedding her down for the night.
“Horses were first domesticated in what is now known as southern Russia, but long before, they are believed to have evolved fifty-some million years ago from a creature known asEohippus. But, please, don’t ever call them by that name because it’s hard to pronounce and they find it offensive. Oh—and never, ever call them Mister Ed. They’re very sensitive about their depiction in the Golden Age of television.”
A few chuckles emerged from the crowd, and I was relieved that at least some people were tracking with me.
“Another fun fact that I rarely bring up with my equine friends is the reality that their brain is actually smaller than the space taken up by their teeth.”
I gave a wide, tooth-filled smile, and a few more people laughed.
“I’m often asked by the students who come to the stables whether a horse is a boy or girl, and for the really young kiddos, I don’t always want to point out a horse’s huge… or tiny… you know… so instead we count their teeth. The boys have forty while the girls have only thirty-six. I’m like, how cool is that? In the backwoods of Virginia, sometimes I’m lucky to find a guy with any of his real teeth.”
Bigger laugh.
“Also, I’m really jealous that horses can sleep both lying down and standing up. It would make bad dates a lot more bearable if I could just force myself into a comatose state while waiting in line at the shooting range. Because that’s where guys with only a few teeth take you on the first date.” I paused. “Afterward, if he’s still got his molars, we might grab a burger.”
As I brushed the metal pieces with a wet towel and continued the kind of conversation I usually only reserved for Bella, the nameplate on the saddle glinted in the stage lights, and I couldn’t help but read the words: ones I’d skimmed in the stables a couple of days earlier.
To Savilla, All This Will Be Ours. Love, Your Mom.
Now, as I read the full message on this particular saddle, the inscription carried a new meaning. I read each word carefully as I continued to clean and chatter.
“Horses have huge eyes. They can actually see three hundred and fifty degrees, and if I hadn’t graduated from the Virginia public school system, I might know what that means.”
More laughter.
“If the saddle… if it’s especially dirty, you may need to… to redo this step several times,” I said, holding up a clean sponge. This saddle hadn’t been used recently. If ever. But it did hold a clue, a clue I was processing onstage in front of hundreds of pageant-goers.
I squirted more glycerin soap onto the sponge as my brain tried to dissect the engraved words, my mind forming the phrasing of the dedication into a list.
Savilla—daughter of Mr. Finch and… Katie Gilman.
All this—the estate? The pageant? Life itself?
Will Be Ours—Katie Gilman was taking something, and she was planning to share it with her daughter, Savilla.
Love, Your Mom—Also known as Savilla’s nanny, Cathy Peabody, Miss 2001, Pageant Judge Katie Gilman.
