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THE FORTUNE SELLER An excerpt from the novel by RACHEL KAPELKE-DALE.
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he Yale stables were, as a therapist would later explain to me, my happy place. The place where everything I loved— animals, biology, the outdoors, my friends—came together. Where the work you put in had a direct impact on the results you got. To a point, of course; I was never going to be a world-class show jumper. But the more I worked, the better I became. It was beautiful and golden and, in the fall, the trees surrounding the valley colored so vividly, it looked like they were on fire. A year in another barn hadn’t erased my love for our stables. If anything, the similarities, the same things that every barn has—the stalls, the feed, the horses—only sharpened my nostalgia. We approached the barn door. Hanging bridles, snorts and whinnies, the wholesome golden smell of hay. I was home. I stood for a second at the entrance and breathed it all in. And then started to make my way down the center, running back and forth to greet all of the horses I’d known, all of the horses I’d loved. All of the horses I’d missed. They were the main reason I’d come that day. Honey, Lady, Bambi, nickering and nuzzling my shoulder, stomping in anticipation, demanding that I come see them. And Cress, following behind me with a low giggle at each silly animal. It wasn’t technically my lesson—I was in Intermediate, a level below Cress, and I’d have my own lesson group––but beyond my need to be in the one place that felt like home at Yale, I had to see Annelise. She’d taken a taxi out on her own at the crack of dawn. The promise of seeing her ride was 26 | EQ UE S T R I A N L I V IN G | J AN UARY / FEB RUARY | 2024
From The Fortune Seller by Rachel Kapelke-Dale. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
too appealing: she couldn’t possibly live up to the rumors of her greatness. If she was that good, I wanted to see it. And if she wasn’t, I wanted to see it, too. And then there was Thumper. Cress had had Bambi with her since first year, and now she had a second horse, a Dutch warmblood. Nobody but Cress would be allowed to ride Thumper, just like no one else was allowed to ride Bambi. Not even you, she’d written me over the summer. You need more than bravery to ride that guy. At the very end of the dusty row, peeking over his gate with large, curious eyes, there he was. Even in the dark, Thumper glittered. Curious, perked ears; a white streak down his nose. And an awareness to his gaze that you couldn’t train in—they had to be born with it. “Cress, he’s gorgeous.” I reached out a hand to stroke him, but— “Careful!” she shrieked, just as his teeth snapped down, sharp, on my hand. For a second, I couldn’t figure out what had happened; horses just like me, they always have, and it had been ages since I’d been bitten. It felt like getting my hand caught in something heavy, and I yanked it back, staring in a daze at the blood welling up from the places where he’d broken the skin. Cress grabbed his halter, pulled his head toward her. He let her stroke his nose, all right. “Fuck, sorry. Yeah, he’s gorgeous, but he’s mean as a snake. Dad says Queen of Sheba was the same.” “Yeah, I’ve heard that about Queenie’s temper,” I said to Cress now, laughing shakily as I stared at my hand. The area around the toothmarks was flushed bright red; it would bruise. I was lucky he hadn’t taken off a finger. After all, I knew animals: I grew Continued on page 28