Change of Heart by Joan Wolf

At nine o’clock Jenny came downstairs again, wearing pink-flowered pajamas. Cecelia got up. “Ready? Say good night then, honey, and we’ll go up.”
    Jenny went over to Ricardo and kissed him. He ruffled her curls and said gently, “Good night, niña. Dream about ribbons.”
    She giggled and went over to where her father was sitting. “Good night, Daddy,” she said and kissed him too.
    “Good night, sweetheart,” he answered. His face looked very grave as Cecelia took his daughter by the hand and walked upstairs with her.
    Ricardo rose. “Well, it is time I was going,” he said to his son-in-law. “I am happy to see you home again.”
    Gil had risen as well and now he looked hard into the other man’s dark, aquiline face. The brown eyes looking back at him were expressionless. Too expressionless. “Thank you,” said Gil. “Good night, Ricardo.”
    Ricardo did not answer but bowed his head formally and walked with the ease of familiarity to the door. As he heard it close Gil thoughtfully turned to follow his wife and daughter up the stairs.
    * * * *
    Gil did not go into the office the following day. He had run a physically exhausting schedule for the last two weeks and he was tired. When he awoke late in the morning, Cecelia and Jenny had already left for the farm. He had a leisurely breakfast accompanied by the newspaper, and after he had finished he decided to drive over to Hilltop Farm. He had not been there since his marriage.
    It looked the same as he drove into the stable yard and parked the BMW next to the Buick station wagon that he had given Cecelia to use. He heard Ricardo’s voice coming from the arena and went over to look in the door.
    A very large powerful-looking horse was going around the arena ridden by a man whom Gil did not know. The horse was not cooperating and there was evidently a battle of strength in progress. The man was big and strong but the horse was most definitely winning.
    “He’s all strung out,” Ricardo was saying. “Drive him up to the bit. Stop fighting him, George!”
    The man cursed as the horse sidled. “He won’t straighten out!” he shouted to Ricardo.
    “He will if you’ll use your legs and stop pulling on his mouth,” said Ricardo coldly.
    “He’s too bloody strong.”
    Ricardo looked across to the barn doorway. “Cecelia,” he called, “will you get on Smokey and show George what I am talking about?”
    In a minute his wife came into Gil’s field of vision, walking toward the center of the ring. Without a word the rider got off; next to Cecelia he was seen to be a very large man. He easily weighed a hundred pounds more than she did. How in God’s name, Gil thought distractedly, did Ricardo think one hundred and ten pounds could do what two hundred and ten could not? The horse looked to be a brute.
    Cecelia swung into the saddle, shortened the stirrups, and began to walk the horse around the ring. After a minute she moved into a trot and as Gil watched, astonished, the one hundred and ten pounds began to do what the two hundred and ten could not. The horse’s hind legs were driven up under him and his whole way of moving changed. In ten minutes she had him cantering, collected and sweet as butter, going smoothly around the ring.
    “All right,” Ricardo called and she brought the horse down to a walk, patted him and fussed over him, then walked him back to his owner. “That is what I was talking about,” Ricardo said pleasantly. “Riding has nothing to do with physical strength. Anyone, no matter how strong, who gets into a pulling contest with a horse is going to lose.”
    “Yeah,” said George. “I see what you mean.”
    Cecelia handed him back his reins and her eyes, moving past her father, caught sight of her husband in the doorway. “Gil!” she said, astonished. “Whatever are you doing here?” She came across the ring toward him, and as she drew closer he could see the sweat on her forehead and nose. Her yellow shirt was