“What are you two up to?” Lena asked as she carefully maneuvered her way towards them. Her eyes were on the ground, seeking to find the most solid and dry spots for her high-heeled shoes. She was a petite, soft woman with a kind face, but clearly not dressed for the barn in a formal coat and skirt, and scarf ensemble.
“Just watching them,” Kurt answered. “Why are you all dressed up?”
Lena rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten today is Karen Thompson’s birthday. I told you we were going weeks ago. It’s on the calendar.”
“You didn’t say anything to me about it this morning.”
“I didn’t think I had to remind you.” She glanced at her watch. “We’re still fine for time. Charlotte, I was going to ask you to come with me to get the present, but you still have to finish up in the barn then shower and change. I’ll go pick something up by myself. Can I count on you both to be ready to go in an hour and a half?”
“Yes. Sorry, it slipped my mind.” Kurt pecked his wife on the cheek.
“An hour and a half, young lady. Do you understand me?” She wagged her finger at her daughter in a mock serious fashion.
“Yes, Mom. That’s plenty of time.”
“Not if you stand around mooning over those two horses all afternoon... That’s Carpia, isn’t it? Her foal is darling.”
“Mom,” her daughter groaned. “He’s not ‘darling.’ He’s impressive.”
“Charlotte, you know that for me most foals look pretty much the same, but that one is especially cute.”
“Looks like the gamble of buying Carpia might pay off,” Kurt said. For him, this was high praise.
Lena stared for another long moment at the black colt. “He does have a way about him, doesn’t he? An hour and a half. I’m counting on you.” With that, she turned and began to make her way back to the house.
Charlotte glanced up at her father. “What do you mean it was a gamble to buy Carpia? I heard you tell Dr. Olson she was a steal with her show record and her bloodlines.”
“Yes, she was a really good show jumper. She won at some big competitions then she got hurt. She had the reputation of being hard to handle, witchy, and she only got worse once she was laid up. She went after a groom who was cleaning her stall at her last owners. She banged the guy up pretty badly, broke his leg and some ribs.”
“Carpia’s not like that anymore. I’m sure that guy did something to her first.”
He tapped her on the nose with his index finger. “It doesn’t matter if he did, Charlotte. You know that. Even though Carpia seems to like you, she’s a dangerous and unpredictable animal. You have to be on your toes around any horse, but especially that one. She has a history of being tough, and not just at her last home. That mare has changed hands often because she is difficult with a capital D. The last guy who owned her didn’t know what to do with her. Her competitive career was finished, so he bred her. I made him a ridiculously low offer and he took it, glad to be rid of her.”
“If she’s so bad, why did you buy her?”
“She’s one of the last of a really special Holsteiner bloodline. I talked it over with your mother, and we agreed that it was worth giving Carpia a chance. She’s taken to motherhood like a duck to water.”
“I knew she’d be a fine.” The girl fell silent for a moment as she studied the pair. “What are we going to name him?”
Kurt glanced over at his daughter. For a horse breeder, the study of bloodlines was both a favorite and necessary activity. Charlotte had just started taking an interest and he enjoyed sharing his knowledge with her. She was learning more with the birth of each new foal on their farm. “His grandfather was a great stallion named 'Canute the Viking.' I think this colt is going to be a top stallion in his own right.” He glanced at his daughter expectantly. “I want a name that will recall his grandfather, but will also be uniquely his. I was thinking of something like Olav.”
“No, Dad, that’s too...I don’t know.”
“Olav Haraldsson was a famous king of Norway.”
“Yeah, I remember the story, Dad. But he left the country as soon as Canute arrived, didn’t even fight him. This colt wouldn’t do that. He would fight to the end.”
Kurt smiled. Like many young girls, Charlotte was idealistic and imaginative. She liked reading about knights and quests, so he wasn’t surprised that she endowed her favorite colt with heroic qualities. But it was too soon to say anything about the character of the two-week-old colt cavorting before them.
“I think you’re selling Olav short, but you don’t like it... So, how about King Harald? He was another famous Viking.”
“No, that’s not right either. It’s not...cool enough.”
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“I wanted to name him something neat like Zorro or Midnight. But his grandfather, this Viking horse, he was a really good one, right?”
“Canute was an impressive bay, not black like this one, but this colt has that same ‘look of eagles’ in his eyes. You see! Right there when he tosses his head. His eyes are big, bold and fierce. He reminds me of his grandfather.”
“What about his father?”
“Leif Erikson can jump the moon. I saw him at the stallion approval. But he’s very young. It’s too soon to say anything about him. This colt is from his first crop.”
“I’ve got it! Just call him Viking!”
Kurt groaned. “I was going for something more dignified, less violent, especially since Carpia is his dam.”
“Come on, Dad. You were going to name him after a Viking anyway, and he’s going to be the greatest Viking of his family. I just know it! Please Dad. It suits him... Hey, little Viking,” Charlotte called out to the colt.
Little Viking raised his head high, and trotted over. He stopped a horse’s length away from her. He eyed them challengingly, snorted and pawed at the ground.
“Look at him, Dad. He looks like a Viking.”
But Kurt was watching his daughter. It was obvious the colt entranced her. He savored his feeling of paternal pride. “All right, honey, we’ll call him Viking.”
“Really? Cool! Thanks, Dad!” She grinned as she jumped off the fence rail on which she was standing. Her sudden move caused the black colt to leap away and go tearing across the field.
“I just hope he’s more of a peace lover than his mother.”
Chapter Three
About two weeks later, on a particularly windy, rainy morning, Kurt led Carpia out to the pasture to join the other mares and their foals. He was in a bit of a hurry as he was running late. He already had his suit on under his raincoat—he had an important meeting scheduled for nine. All he had to do was finish this task and change his shoes. He kept a wary eye on Carpia. Though focused on her colt, she still managed to sneak nips at him. He didn’t have time to change if she tore anything, and he didn’t fancy meeting new clients with horse snot on his sleeve. Viking danced along beside his mother, sometimes charging forward then racing back to her side squealing.
When he came to the gate, Kurt noted the other three mares and their foals milling about the hay crib. On seeing Carpia, one mare whinnied a greeting. Kurt slid the chain from around Carpia's nose and released her. He stepped back quickly in case she kicked out, but slipped in the wet, mucky ground and almost went down. The cold wind was making his nose run, but he’d forgotten his handkerchief. He inhaled sharply, drawing in the smell of horse manure and dark, wet earth. He glanced down at his pant leg in some irritation. He had gotten mud on it. Despite how pressed he was for time, he waited to make sure that Carpia and her colt were safely accepted into the small group. It had been an impulsive decision to put her back out with the other horses. Another mare had foaled the previous night, occupying the paddock by the barn, and he hadn’t wanted to leave Carpia and Viking indoors all day.
Viking rushed headlong towards the other horses. His ears were up, and he let out a shrill, excited call. His mother trotted after him
, her still large belly flopping to each side with her movement. It was then that Music, a chestnut mare who had replaced Carpia as herd boss in the other mare’s absence, reacted to the foal charging towards her. She turned, pinned her ears back and lunged straight at Viking. The colt changed direction seemingly in mid-air so that the mare’s teeth just grazed him on one side. He squealed in pain.
Carpia immediately took action. She bore down on Music, and crashed straight into the other mare with her chest and shoulders, driving her to the ground. While Music struggled to rise, Carpia, with white-rimmed eyes, rose on her hind legs and drove down with her sharp hooves. Music managed to get up, but still couldn’t escape the other mare’s fury. Carpia chased after her, her long neck extended as she sought to sink her teeth into Music’s rump.
Kurt stood there, frozen in disbelief. It appeared Carpia had gone mad. Now, she was going after the other mares as well as their foals. Wildly, she charged about the small herd, driving them away from her own colt.
Kurt ran into the barn and got a long whip. He hurried back to the field. He couldn’t worry about his business meeting; he had a major situation on his hands. Viking was now standing at his mother’s side. Carpia had her head low and her ears back. She was glaring at the terrorized group huddled in a far corner of the paddock. Kurt didn’t dare go near her in her current state. The better plan was to bring the other mares and foals in first. The gate was a good distance away from where Carpia stood watch over her colt. Still, it proved quite a challenge for Kurt to catch the other terrified horses and to convince them to go past Carpia and Viking.
Once he had the others in, Kurt called in to work and explained that he would be late. Then, he used all of the tricks he knew to catch the difficult mare. To attract her attention, he shook a bucket of oats. He held out sugar. She got closer with the sugar, then just as he was about to drop a lead shank over her neck, she spun away.
About an hour later, when he finally caught her, he was exhausted, filthy and infuriated. As he showered and changed, he deliberately ignored a niggling sense of foreboding concerning Carpia and her colt. He sought to convince himself that this episode was merely a minor setback. Then he deliberately focused his attention back on the business proposal he was making to the clients he had inconvenienced that morning.
Carpia and her colt were never turned out with the other horses again.
* * * *
Carpia became increasingly possessive of her colt as the weeks went by. She not only snapped at anyone who entered her stall, she grazed on her handlers. To make matters worse, Viking was already nipping at people with his square milk teeth. Kurt made sure he was the only one who handled the pair.
He liked to gentle his foals, to spend time with them while they were still little, to get them used to people. He believed it was important that his foals learned to trust. It was simply not possible for him to do such work with Viking. Carpia wouldn’t allow it.
To Kurt’s immense dismay, Carpia did permit one person around Viking. On more than one evening, he had found Charlotte in the stall with the black pair, crooning to the colt and stroking him, all under his mother’s watchful gaze. Surprisingly, the mare didn’t seem to mind the girl’s presence.
He ordered his daughter to stay away from them with the threat of punishment should she disobey, “There’ll be no more riding lessons if I find you in that stall again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Dad.” She glared at him mutinously.
“It’s for your own good, honey.”
And she had stayed out of Carpia’s stall, but she’d maintained her relationship with the mare by visiting her out in the pasture and by feeding her sugar cubes and carrots through the bars on her stall door.
Kurt looked forward to weaning the colt. He’d already decided to sell Carpia once she weaned her foal. She was not in foal for the next season. She had gone after the stallion when he had sought to rebreed her. Kurt had decided that she was an accident waiting to happen and he wanted her well away from Charlotte. Carpia was too much trouble to have around. Nevertheless, he didn’t even want to consider where she might end up given her history and reputation.
Chapter Four
All was going well until an unfortunate day when Kurt took two of the mares with their foals to a breed show several hours away. Ulrik, an occasional helper, had agreed to tend to the remaining animals. Ulrik was a scruffy older man who owned a small farm nearby, and had once ridden three-day eventers, but had never been very good. He had lacked any feeling for his mounts, driving them brutally. Kurt knew Ulrik was a bad tempered fellow who drank too much but he showed up for work whenever Kurt requested it of him. He was reliable and willing to work for little pay.
Kurt gave Ulrik instructions when the other man showed up at dawn. “I wouldn’t leave the mares and foals out for long; it looks like it’s going to be a rainy day. We’ll be home late. There’s no need to wait for us...Oh, one more thing, Ulrik. Don’t do anything with Carpia and her foal. She’s been difficult lately.”
“I’ll need to move her to clean her stall,” Ulrik grunted as he exhaled into the other man’s face.
Kurt’s stomach turned at the stench. “Don’t worry about that stall. They’ll be all right for today. Make sure they have water. Toss them down some hay from the loft, and dump their grain in. Just don’t go in there.”
“Right, boss,” Ulrik started to shuffle away.
Kurt felt a vague sense of unease as he stared after the other man’s dark green raincoat.
“Come on, Dad,” Charlotte called from her rolled down car window.
“All right. All right. I’m coming.”
As Ulrik cleaned the stalls and turned the other horses out, he passed by Carpia’s big box. To torment her, he would slide his hand across the bars on the front of her stall as he went. True to form, the mare would then lunge at the bars, her ears pinned back, her eyes wild. Ulrik derived perverse pleasure from her excitability. Carpia got under his skin. It irritated him to no end that the mare got special treatment. She had the best stall in the place, and the boss took special care of her. In Ulrik’s eyes, she deserved just the opposite. He also deeply resented the many times that she’d bitten him. Ulrik, like Charlotte, but for contrary reasons, could not leave Carpia alone.
By mid-afternoon, he had finished most of his duties. He had only to wait around to feed the evening meal. He sat down on a hay bale opposite Carpia’s stall. She raised her elegant black head, her silken nostrils flaring.
“What are you looking at?” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a battered flask. He took a swig; it was not his first for the day.
The mare snorted.
“You’d like to tell him, wouldn’t you? It’s your bad luck that it’s just me here.” He took another long swallow.
Carpia tossed her head defiantly.
“If you were my horse, I would straighten you out...What the hell, I’m the only one here. Kurt will be thankful if I teach you a little respect.
Taking a whip in one hand and a pitchfork in the other, he opened the latch to her stall. He stumbled as he entered. He realized he was more than a little drunk.
“I can still handle you, you black witch.” Belying his words, his hands shook as he moved forward with the pitchfork extended out before him.
The mare did nothing at first, merely sniffed the scent of him, the odor of his fear mixing with the reek of alcohol. Then, she snaked her head low and charged him, meaning to drive him out. Ulrik poked her in the chest with the pitchfork, not hard enough to break skin, just enough to stop her.
“Now let’s see who’s in charge.” Gaining confidence, and wielding his pitchfork, he drove her back into the corner. She retreated from the pain, but kept her body between the intruder’s and her colt.
Ulrik smacked her across the chest with the whip. She leaped forward, but he used the pitchfork to keep her from attacking him. “Don’t like this, do you?” He grinned malevolently. “I
f you got more discipline, you would behave yourself.” He smacked her again. She trembled this time, but didn’t move. Her eyes were white rimmed and frantic.
Viking, the colt, unaware of what was being done to his mother, but sensing her pain and anger, suddenly darted curiously out from behind her.
Defensively, Ulrik slashed the whip across the colt’s face. Viking squealed in pain and fear. Carpia jumped forward, desperate to defend her foal. Ulrik jabbed her hard this time. “Get back! Get back now! Damn you!”
Now, the colt was in one corner. Ulrik’s pitchfork held the mare in the other. Carpia panicked. Viking nickered to his mother, a shrill baby cry of fear.
Despite his drunken state, Ulrik realized that he had discovered the means of getting to the mare. He poked with his whip at the colt. The mare jigged in place. Ulrik jabbed her with the pitchfork again for good measure. Then, he smacked the colt hard across the rump. Viking screamed in pain. His mother reared up on her hind legs and struck at Ulrik. In her need to defend her baby, Carpia was oblivious to pain, even when the cruel prongs thrust into her shoulder and her belly.
Terrified, Ulrik fell back into the straw as Carpia drove down at him with her punishing hooves.
Chapter Five
Kurt was bone tired when he pulled into the stable yard that night. Charlotte was already asleep, her head tilted back against the headrest, her mouth open. As they pulled in, he decided not to wake her. He could unload the horses well enough by himself. Strangely, the barn lights were still on. Ulrik had obviously forgotten to shut them off.
“He doesn’t pay the bill,” he muttered under his breath. He decided to check the barn first before unloading the horses from the trailer. After all, he didn’t need Charlotte walking in half asleep and finding Ulrik passed out drunk on a tack trunk.
He strode through the door and down the aisle way. The horses were in their stalls, but several whinnied to him as if expecting some food.
“Didn’t he feed you? Where is Ulrik?”
It was then that he saw Carpia’s door was open.
* * * *
A week later, Kurt again found himself standing outside of Carpia’s stall contemplating a tragic situation, but of a different nature. “Honey, we had to do it. There was no other way,” he stated morosely to his daughter.