“You try, Sarah,” Master Thomas says.

“I don’t need to try,” I say, but the blacksmith takes hold of my hand and leads it to the horse like he did with Master Thomas.

I feel the smoothness of the horse hair, rose-petal soft, and I feel the warmth of the blacksmith’s touch as he drapes his pale hand over mine, his healing wound pressed against me, guiding me along the horse’s side. His hand is slick with sweat. Mine too. In fact, my whole body is dripping in the heat. I got sweat rolling down between my shoulder blades and under my arms and between my legs. The sun is beating down so hard today, like it wants to burn our clothes away.

I pull my hand from under his and shake at my skirt, trying to get some air circulating.

The blacksmith clears this throat. “Would you like to sit on him?” he asks Master Thomas.

The boy nods, but backs away. “Will he throw me off?”

“Not a chance.”

The horse neighs, tossing his head, and Master Thomas backs further away.

“Would you like me to sit on him with you?” the blacksmith says.

Master Thomas nods. “But he hasn’t got a saddle.”

“Aye, but we don’t need it. There’s a mounting block just there that we can use,” he says pointing to a wooden stoop by the fencing. “And we won’t go thundering across the countryside on him, bareback like an Indian brave. We’ll just stay here with him. We don’t need a saddle for that.”

He leads the horse over to the block, but Master Thomas doesn’t follow. “Sarah should go first,” he says.

There’s some things a slave ain’t supposed to do, and riding the master’s horse is one of them. “I can’t be riding no horse, Master Thomas.”

“It’ll give the boy courage,” the blacksmith says. He ties the horse to the fence by the mounting block and steps over to me, taking my elbow. “You’re doing him a favor,” he says, leading me to the horse.

Standing in front of it, my stomach does a little flip at the idea of getting on. All of a sudden, it looks bigger and stronger and like something you can’t control.

“Don’t worry,” the blacksmith says, leaning into my ear. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I know better than believing in promises, but hang it if those jitters don’t quiet right down. I step with him on to the mounting block and let him settle me atop the horse. He climbs on behind me and adjusts my legs forward, nesting his right up behind them. Reaching around me, he pats the horse, calming it.

“Lord, have mercy, I’m sitting on a horse.” I grab hold of its mane in both my fists.

“Let’s walk him over to Thomas.”

“What do you mean?” I stammer.

He leans down to unleash the rope from around the fence with one hand, and hooks his other arm around my waist. Then he drives his heels into the animal’s flank and clicks his tongue and we move, swaying side to side over to where Master Thomas is standing.