The Mare

Ginger

I was alone in the house when the agency returned our message. They had a Spanish-speaker to do a conference call with us and Velvet’s mother. It was pure luck that Paul wasn’t there; he would never have understood what happened.

The translator was a Latina with a young, charming voice. I said, “Tell her I’m happy she called, that she has a wonderful daughter. I love having her here.” But the mother started talking — nearly yelling — before the girl could get the nice words out. I thought, She sounds like she wants to kill me. “She says Velvet can’t ride horses,” said the young woman finally. “It’s too dangerous.”

My heart pounded. I made my voice as nice as I could. I said, “Tell her it’s not horses she’s riding. They’re ponies, little ponies, very safe.” I flushed as I heard the lie translated. The silence that followed was probing and shrewd. Then came the furious reply and I thought, She knows.

But she didn’t. When we got off the phone, everything was okay. I thought, How could anything be okay if she sounds that mad? The translator said, “I told her that we make sure our host families are very good people, that we know who you are and that life there is very safe. That you wouldn’t let Velvet do something that wasn’t safe.”

I thought, She lied to the mother too. They don’t know who we are. Somebody only came out here and talked to us for five minutes before they signed us up. Still, I felt justified. I felt it especially when Velvet wanted to go to the barn again that night and give the horses cut-up apples. I felt it when she came back from her second lesson, face glowing. I thought, I will tell her mother eventually. Next week, maybe. I will tell her that Velvet has gotten so good so fast, they want to put her on a bigger horse and she will say yes. And then there will be time for a few more lessons before she goes back. And the agency will be on my side.