Chapter 8 Horse Power
She could only see his waist, hips, and legs. The rest of him was far up under the car, rattling chains while he grunted with the exertion of the task. The part of him that she could see was something that had been sculpted by the gods, and she stood admiring that narrow, firm, and agile part of his anatomy. For a moment, she wondered if what was hidden under his jeans was as powerful as the rest of him, but she blushed and dismissed the thought almost immediately, another sharp pang of guilt assaulting her. What is wrong with me?
When he slid out from under the car, he looked up at her. She didn’t know what she had done, but something made him look up at her and made his gaze linger. Had he again read the thoughts that had passed through her mind? His blue eyes seemed to accuse her of something, yet they held no malice in them. It was her own mind that was throwing accusations at her. He continued to get up from the ground and lay the contraption out in front of the car.
When it was laid straight, he brought Jack and snapped the thick, leather tugs to the rings in one part of the contraption. He repeated the process with Bud. As he moved forward to unroll the long lines which had been hung on the harness, she could not help her curiosity any longer.
“What is this thing?” she asked, indicating the contraption with her extended manicured finger.
“That is called a double-tree hitch,” he answered. “I attached it under your car and then attached the tugs to the double-tree. These are the lines,” he said. “Come around front and I’ll show you some more.”
She walked around front with him. He spoke like a man who was fascinated with the subject. He would have made an excellent teacher. Nothing he said was patronizing, nor did he assume that she had any knowledge that she didn’t already have.
“Those wings that come out of the bridle behind their eyes?” he said. “Those are called blinders. You’ve heard the saying about going through life with blinders on, right? Well, that’s where it comes from. It keeps the horses from being spooked by what they are pulling.”
“I’ve heard the saying, but never really knew what it meant,” she commented.
“You’ll notice that each of the lines is split in the end,” he began again. “The ‘off-line’ is attached to the bridle ring on the right side of both horses, and the ‘near-line’ is attached to the left side of both horses. That way, whenever I pull on the ‘off-line’, the horses turn right, and when I pull on the ‘near-line ’, they turn left.”
The question hung in the air, a simple query born from a moment of unexpected curiosity. “Why?” she’d asked, her voice tinged with genuine bewilderment. “Why do they call them ‘off-line’ and ‘near-line’?” To her, the terms seemed to defy their literal meaning. “Off-line,” she’d mused, “should mean you’re not connected to the internet.”
He offered a soft chuckle, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of history. “The ‘near-line’ comes from the ‘near-side’,” he explained, his eyes twinkling. “When they used to pass another wagon on the road, the left side was naturally the nearest. When they started making cars, they saw them as just ‘motorized wagons,’ and so, the driver was placed on that same near-side, mimicking the wagon’s configuration.”
A wave of surprise washed over her. “I… I never knew that,” she admitted, the revelation sparking a genuine fascination. She’d never stopped to ponder these linguistic quirks before, but to have them laid bare, to understand their origins, was unexpectedly captivating. It made her wonder what other forgotten stories were woven into the fabric of the equipment surrounding them. Her gaze darted to a distinctive part of the harness, and she pointed, a silent question forming on her lips.
“Those are called hames,” he responded, identifying the long, silver arms capped with rounded ornaments that rose from the collar. “They’re what attach the harness and the tugs to the horse, allowing him to pull effectively from his shoulders. The collar itself prevents it from chafing his skin raw. Hames can be quite simple, or they might barely rise above the collar. In some of the old-world carriages, you’d see hames that stood much taller, often adorned with gold and jewels, a clear display of the owner’s wealth and status.”
She continued her impromptu lesson, her finger tracing the contours of various components. With each explanation, she was drawn deeper into the intricate design of the harness. It was a marvel of engineering, each piece meticulously crafted to allow the horse to exert its full power without suffering injury.
“Alright,” he announced, breaking the spell of her exploration. “To make this easy for everyone, you hop back in the car. Make sure it’s in neutral, and drive like you normally would. I’ll walk alongside, handling the horses. Ready?”
Settled behind the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the magnificent horses before her, she felt a pang of unease. “I can’t see a thing,” she confessed, her hand hovering uncertainly. “How am I supposed to steer?”
“Just try to keep the center of the car aligned between their rumps,” he instructed, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’ll keep the horses on the road.”
A disbelieving smile touched her lips. What had begun as a frustrating inconvenience, a consequence of an unexpected breakdown, was rapidly transforming into an experience of profound significance. The initial disappointment of not seeing a tow truck had faded, replaced by a growing sense of wonder. She was engaged with something visceral and real, something far removed from the ordinary experiences of anyone she knew. It felt like the culmination of a long-simmering desire within her, a yearning that had taken root the moment she’d decided to embark on this solo journey to Glendale. If she were truly honest with herself, the stirring had been present for a very long time, a quiet fear that had always held her back. She had lived a life of comfortable normalcy, a typical young woman from Pittsburgh, but now, all the lost moments, the unfulfilled desires, were rushing in with exhilarating force.
“YAY!” The sharp command cut through the air, and the horses responded. They leaned into their collars, and with a jolt, the car lurched forward, then began to roll, slowly and smoothly. Nerves fluttered in her stomach; the fear of the car surging forward and catching the horses’ heels was palpable. Her foot rested lightly on the brake pedal, a ready defense. He tapped on the glass of her window. “Roll down your window.”
She reached for the button, pressing it as she always would. Then, a realization dawned: the engine wasn't running. She fumbled with the ignition, turning it to the position that would power the battery. The electric window whined softly as it descended into the door frame.
“When we start down this hill,” he advised, his voice carrying through the open window, “you might need to use your brakes a little to keep from getting too close. But not much. And remember, your power brakes won’t work if the engine isn’t on, so you’ll have to push down more and harder to get the same effect.”
“Okay,” she murmured, hoping she could absorb his words. The anxiety, however, was already clouding her memory. She felt utterly adrift, devoid of control. She was steering the car, yet it felt as though an invisible hand guided her, pulling her along.