The Black Saddle; Part One

By

Anyn Johannson

Ingrid’s hand lingered on the computer mouse, seemingly unable to click the delete key. “Imported German Cross Country Dressage Saddle – Never Used” began the Craig’s List ad. Too good to be true for the price; yet her fingers still sat immobile as if caught by a spell. The brand was top of the line - really the stuff dreams were made of –especially for her slim budget. Most of her tack, and heck, even her horse, Ingrid thought wryly, were second-hand purchases. Which is why, even at work, she’d gotten in the habit of taking quick Craigslist peeks. But she never saw anything as tempting, or intriguing as this saddle ad. Far too good to be true; probably a scam. Ingrid sighed as she sat staring at the computer screen. But what hurt would it be if she called the number?  And heck, even if the ad was legitimate, the saddle was probably already gone. 

Ingrid dug into the depths her voluminous purse and fished for her cell phone. She began punching in the ad’s phone number, still mentally rehearsing her questions about the saddle.

A woman’s voice picked up immediately, “Hello”.

Ingrid wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not when the woman affirmed that, “Yes, the saddle is still for sale” to Ingrid’s first question. And then, “Yes, it was everything the advertisement stated, imported, top-of-the-line German made custom saddle, brand new, and undamaged.” But the seller’s next statement seemed a little odd. In fact, it was a question to Ingrid.

“Do you currently ride a horse yourself? This is important.”

“Yes, I’m not an especially good rider, but I do ride my horse nearly everyday”. Ingrid answered truthfully. 

“Good then, how soon can you come by?

Ingrid told the woman she could come by within a couple of hours, immediately after work. The location wasn’t too far off her usual freeway route from work, to horse boarding stable, but not in an area Ingrid was familiar with.  Good news, but everything felt a tad strange and Ingrid experienced a little tremor of worry as she hung up the phone. But she really, really needed a good saddle, and on her budget a deal like this sounded heaven-sent.

Ingrid knew she was, in boarding stable jargon, a “re-rider”. She’d ridden and blithely enjoyed horses in her youth, but had been away from any horse related activities for two decades. Still she’d never lost her love of horses. But what she had unfortunately lost somewhere along the years, she woefully discovered, was the youthful vigor, suppleness and plain old lack of fear that riding a horse could summon. Of course it hadn’t helped that in a soft hearted and money saving gesture, she’d found herself buying an ex-racehorse through a racehorse rehabilitation group whose website she found by chance. The rehab folk were nice and seemed a bit concerned until she promised she’d have a riding trainer’s assistance with re-schooling a project horse. At that time, she’d been was telling the truth, but that was before all the extra horse related expenses Ingrid hadn’t remembered from her teenage years, came into focus, and Ingrid was left with only one weekly group riding lesson to help and her and her ex-racehorse, Coz I’m Queen, learn their new roles together.

Ingrid quickly rechristened the mare Cissy; thinking that much better than her old race track nickname of Queenie, for if a queen, this mare would have been the most insecure monarch ever to have sat on a throne. And insecure seating was definitely a big problem in their relationship, although the crux of the problem was Ingrid’s seat on Cissy’s back. And Ingrid seriously needed a better saddle. She’d dutifully unpacked, dusted off, and carefully oiled and saddle-soaped her two decades old one, but now the saddle seemed, ahem, smaller when sat in it, and it certainly didn’t give her support this current, less athletic version of herself needed.

When the time on the computer screen finally ticked to nearly the end of the work day. As Ingrid began to gather up her purse, keys, and checked to make sure the saddle seller’s directions and phone number were safely stored in her cell phone, Ingrid felt  a combination of excitement and trepidation.  Things just seemed a little off kilter; the saddle was far too cheap, and why had the woman seriously cared about whether Ingrid currently rode horses? Odd enough so that at the last minute Ingrid wrote down the address and phone, and walked over to a co-worker’s cubicle.

“Hi Tui, I know I sound paranoid, but I just wanted someone to know where I am headed after work. I am stopping to look at another saddle for sale-

“Craigslist again”, Tui interrupted with a knowing smile. “Still trying to conjure up a bargain saddle.”

“Yup, you’re right Tui. Anyway, here’s the phone and address so if I come up missing you can hand it over to the police”, Ingrid half shrugged as she handed over the slip of paper.

Tui looked down at the address and frowned, “Hey, this is a really nice area, big expensive homes on huge lots all scattered along on a steep canyon’s hillside. Serious money, but not what I would expect to be horse property.”

“Hmm, okay. Well at least it doesn’t sound like a high crime area, and thanks for looking out for me, Tui. Bye.”

Well good it wasn’t a high crime area to be driving to all alone, and of course she had her cell phone, Ingrid reasoned as she headed out to the parking lot. Still she couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that she was headed into something unexpected.

As she exited the freeway and began driving up into the hills, Ingrid could understand Tui’s comment. The narrow two-lane road headed up beautiful and steep canyon hillsides towards impressive homes with million-dollar views.  Ingrid watched the road carefully, and as she followed the road’s many tight twists and turns she was glad the sun hadn’t yet set.

And it seemed she just kept going up and up the canyon. Finally, when she was near the crest of a very large hill, she spotted the correct address on a gray stone signpost. Driving up the very long and steep driveway where Ingrid knew her little economy car was conspicuously out of place. Finally she came to a large house whose gray stonework perfectly matched the front signpost.  Not sure where to park, she just gave up and decided to park near the six - or was it seven - car garage?

Taking a deep breath, Ingrid stepped out of her car and began walking up to the oversize double front doors. But before she even had time to knock, an elegant woman in a black dress opened the imposing front door.

“Good day, you are here about the saddle,” the woman said with only a token smile. It was a statement, not a question.

 “Yes, yes I am. Is it still for sale?” As she stood there, Ingrid had an odd feeling she was being evaluated, and then, wondered if she’d truly overheard the woman mumbling to herself, something about “being the same size”.

Instead of answering Ingrid’s question, the woman quietly posed a question to Ingrid.

“You mentioned on the phone that you rode, did you not? I’ve had others callers here today who said they rode horses, but couldn’t legitimately tell me where it was they rode, state their horse’s breed, name, or even show me a photo of their horse.” She raised an eyebrow and looked at Ingrid expectantly.

It took Ingrid a second for this to register. “Oh photos, I’ve got lots of those on my phone! Yes, yes. Umm, just a second…. . Ingrid fumbled to get the phone out of her purse and then to pull up the right photo file, all while talking. “My mare’s name is Cissy, well that’s not her real name, but I call her that, and-and she’s my first horse as an adult and she’s an OTTB, you know an off-the-track thoroughbred, an ex-race horse, and we’re still getting use to each other, so we still stay mostly in the schooling ring, but someday I really want to start jumping again, and I really, really want to go out exploring on the trails, but I haven’t been able to yet because we’re having problems crossing this tiny little stream right where the trails start  and … oh good. Here’s the right file!”

Grinning proudly, Ingrid handed the phone to the woman standing motionless in the doorway. Her phone’s photo file was chock full of Cissy photos; good ones, mediocre ones, as well as the awkward and silly shots only an enthusiastic horse owner would keep.  Without expression the woman silently scrolled through image after image. Ingrid began to feel dismayed and embarrassed thinking of the plain background views of her modest boarding stable. Plain and utilitarian; all she’d been able to afford. Looking around at the expansive house and the surrounding area, Ingrid knew this woman had to be used to something much grander and luxurious.

Ingrid also noticed the sun was beginning to get low, and her unease grew. The silent tableau continued for several more tense moments as the woman kept on looking through the photos. Then suddenly, she shook her gaze from the phone. In the dimming light did Ingrid see a few tears in her eyes?

Looking Ingrid squarely in the face, she said, “Yes, I believe you actually own a horse. It is very important that the saddle goes to someone who will be riding in it right away.”  The words were said with absolute gravity. 

Ingrid nodded, and wavered, “Well that is certainly my goal. I really, really need a new saddle, that’s why I’ve been checking all the ads -”

“Wait here.” It was an order. The woman turned away and disappeared back in the house. But soon she came out carrying what seemed to be for Ingrid the veritable Holy Grail of cross county eventing saddle-dom. It was gorgeous and in seemingly, brand-new, perfect, condition. Its smooth, rich black leather glowed richly in the ruddy sunlight. Ingrid knew it was the careful handcraft of the finest of German saddle makers; generations of tradition and skill had gone into its creation. From the ad Ingrid knew the seat size was little larger than Ingrid’s old saddle, and the fit for Cissy’s back looked miraculously promising as well.

The woman silently held the saddle before her with both arms as Ingrid reached out and reverently touched the supple, butter soft leather of the saddle. At the first feel of the saddle Ingrid’s hand trembled slightly from excitement, nerves, or something else?

“You mean – You’ll let me - I can buy it? Really? I wasn’t sure when you’d mentioned the other potential buyers… . ? 

                        Instead of a yes or no answer, the woman only held out the saddle toward Ingrid. She said, “It is in absolutely perfect, new condition, and no, not stolen.” Then a short pause, before speaking again more forcefully, “But be careful driving down the hill in the dusk. Not everyone driving that road takes proper care. Tragedy can happen in the blink of an eye.”

For a moment Ingrid stood frozen, disbelieving her good fortune. Then cautiously she reached forward and took the saddle from the woman’s outstretched arms, and tenderly clutching it to her side. She felt giddy, slightly dizzy, as she began reaching one-handed into her purse to feeling blindly for her checkbook. Suddenly she realized she didn’t even know the woman’s name.

                        “Oh I’m sorry, what’s your name? You know, so I can write out the check.”

Ingrid mentally cringed, she felt a social dunce in such an upscale setting, and she certainly didn’t want to do anything rude or flaky enough and make this somber woman change her mind. It was just so quick and off-kilter.

“Do not worry about the money. But you must, must promise swear to put the saddle on your horse and start riding in it right away. In fact this very evening would be best. Now, do I have your solemn oath?” It was unnerving; the woman’s look was so intent, so grave, dark eyes boring into Ingrid’s while she spoke. In fact the whole deal felt very odd, as if there was a back-story of which she was ignorant.

Startled, Ingrid said, “Oh, I promise. But don’t – don’t you want the money? I mean you must want the money? Are you just giving me this saddle? It doesn’t seem,  well, normal - or real,” she added under her breath.

“No this is not normal, but oh yes, it is real. Just heed your promise - the saddle is to be ridden in by you, sooner the better, not to be stored away or re-sold. Now remember you’ve made a solemn promise.” As the final words were being spoken the woman was already turning away, shutting the massive front doors, and vanishing from view.

  Slightly shaken, Ingrid began to walk quickly toward her little car, half expecting for the woman to reappear and add something else to her strange speech, but after reaching the car a glance over her shoulder showed Ingrid that the woman had truly disappeared. 

Ingrid now looked down for the first time to really see the wonderful saddle in her arms. It now seemed to glow a deep, unworldly, umber from the orange rays of the sunset. Oh what a special and beautiful a saddle it was! It felt like a sacrilege to wrap it in a 99-cent store towel and lay it in her car trunk. But rearranging all the miscellaneous barn clothes, dry cleaning, lunch tote, cat litter bag, library books in the car, and other assorted items in the car would have taken too much time. She wanted to get out of this place right away.

Thankfully the car started with the first turn of the key; it was easy to circle out of the expansive driveway and past the silent house. No sign of the dark and mysterious woman at the windows. Soon Ingrid was on the unlit, twisty road heading downhill toward the highway.

The oddness of the transaction was giving away to the thrill of knowing she had a more quality piece of saddle maker’s art in her trunk than she could have rightly imagined. And simply given to her! Unbelievable luck, like a fairy tale! The nervous, edgy feeling was turning into a euphoric desire to hurry to the boarding stable.

Ingrid thought that now she and Cissy would finally be able to get out of the riding ring and onto the trails. Ingrid grimaced remembering that try as she had, she still wasn’t able to ride Cissy past that bogie spot where the trails began. In fact on her last try she’d been spun clean off Cissy’s back when the athletic mare pulled a swift 180-degree spin, triumphantly trotting solo back to the barn after leaving Ingrid sitting painfully on the ground. But now - yes - now with this saddle she’d be able to finally get Cissy out on the trails! Smiling, Ingrid envisioned herself sitting securely and thwarting all of Cissy’s shenanigans, making the mare cross the creek and finally riding out and enjoying the beckoning the hills with the other riders. This happy image was floating in her mind when an unexpected hairpin turn caught her off guard, the centrifugal force causing the car to swerve into the oncoming lane. Ingrid’s hands reflexively clutched and corrected the steering wheel. Her heart raced; thank heavens there was no oncoming car! That could have been a deadly mistake. What was it the mysterious saddle seller had just said about this road, “Tragedy can happen in the blink of an eye”? What did that woman know? The uneasy feeling returned, as Ingrid now slowly and cautiously, drove down the rest of the road in the deepening autumnal dusk.

(To be Continued)