An Unexpected Turn of Events - a run-away story

We never seem to know when life’s unexpected moments will make us the hero or turn us into someone who needs a hero, or maybe even both.

I met Martha when I was only in the second grade. My mother (a devout Baptist) had decided a few years after my father’s death when I was only 3, that she no longer wanted to attend my father’s choice of churches. So my older brother and I were forced to attend her family’s church. My brother and I were devastated having to leave all our friends and I felt very betrayed and alone when I walked into that new, second grade Sunday school class room. I was not a shy girl but I was very stubborn. I was determined not to be happy in this new environment so maybe I could force my mother to somehow change her mind and take us back to our old church.

The teacher introduced me to the small class of less than ten girls. A little blond haired, blue eyed, rug- rat with a sad look on her face; I must have looked like a lost puppy! Just as I was thinking of turning tail and running, a small voice came from the last row of chairs. “Come sit here” said the skinny girl sitting by herself patting the chair next to hers, “…my name is Martha”. Everyone always told me that I was skinny, but Martha was a bean pole. She had straight, long, brown hair and brown eyes, porcelain skin, and the friendliest smile. I was hesitant at first, but her smile persuaded me, and I sat down that Sunday morning and made a new best friend.

Martha and I became inseparable when we were together. She and I were good friends for a few years and we always had fun. Her mom was almost always happy and even a little silly sometimes, but I always liked her. We took turns having sleepovers on the weekends and I always liked to stay at her house. I liked her family and she had a big basement to play in. In fact I’m sure I remember annoying her older brothers (whose rooms were in that basement) and their friends! Her family lived close to a main road which had lots of places we could walk to and spend our allowance. One year I spent Halloween with her and we got all kinds of great free stuff: donuts, candy bars, pop, ice cream, and a few non-edible trinkets. (There actually was a time when merchants could afford to be generous.) Martha and I also went to church camp together in the summer and I can still remember skipping around the campground with her loudly singing some silly song! We had fun for a while until fate would intervene and teach me a lesson.

When I was very little and still attending my father’s church, I played with one other girl my age Renee, who lived a few houses down the street. I desperately wanted to be friends and play with her, but she was incredibly shy and timid and my four year old mind didn’t understand that. I tried so hard to get her to talk to me, to tell me why she wouldn’t talk to me… I tried too hard. One day after asking her repeatedly why she wouldn’t talk to me, I was so frustrated I reached out and slapped her cheek. I know… I was the bully, though I didn’t realize it at the time, I just thought I could make her talk to me. Of course this did not help, and she told her mother and let her know she didn’t want to play with me anymore.

At that time we were still attending my father’s Baptist church, while Renee’s family attended my mother’s family church where she and Martha were friends. Just before my mother decided to switch churches, Renee’s family moved out of state for a few years thus I became Martha’s new friend. But right around the sixth grade Renee’s family moved back into the same house down the street and back to what was now our church. Martha began to be cold to me and told me that Renee didn’t like me so she didn’t want to hang out with me anymore either… and that was the price I paid for my childhood mistake. Martha was never mean to me after that, but I was not welcome in her circle anymore. Renee was older now but not ready to forgive me and I don’t blame her. About the time Renee’s family moved back, I began to be ostracized and “bullied” at school over my love of horses. And while Renee had nothing to do with this, I was never more sorry to her than then.

One weekend at the end of summer right before freshman year, our church youth group went on a retreat. Martha and Renee were there, and though we girls were all in one big cabin, the counselors were really the only ones whom I could say were my friends. It was not our usual campground, but they did have horses there, and on a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon we were allowed to take a scheduled trail ride. There were a limited number of horses so of course I was the first one there, helping to groom and saddle. I talked briefly with our “trail boss” who was a little shorter than me and very shall I say “well fed”. I also learned that he was not really a horseman at all, he wasn’t the horse’s normal caretaker or trail guide, he was just the only counselor there that had ridden before and was willing to take us on a group ride. There were actually a lot of kids who wanted to ride; Martha and Renee included. As we waited for our trail guide to check last minute things and assign horses, I remember watching Martha talk with some of the other kids and I missed our friendship.

I was on a beautiful bay gelding with black mane and tail, and placed right behind our hefty leader who had taken the smaller pony because supposedly pony could have a little attitude for inexperienced riders. It was a great day as we walked down tree lined trails through gorgeous woods and although I felt a little sorry for pony in front of me carrying his heavy passenger, I was just so thankful to be riding! In the very back of our line however Martha was having problems with her grey dapple gelding. She did not have much riding experience, and her horse who was obviously a dominant member of the herd had her number. He would tug on the reins and pull her arms forward so he could nip at the horse in front of him. The horse in front would then give a slight warning kick and Martha’s horse would toss his head up and bolt in front of that horse pushing his way up in the line horse by horse. This continued until I felt my horse’s rear end lift a little with a slight buck and looked behind me to see Martha braced in her saddle, holding onto the reins with tight fists and the look of shear fear in her face. “I don’t know why he’s doing this” she said, “he keeps biting the horse in front of me and then running ahead, I can’t stop him!” Obviously Martha’s horse was the leader of the heard or at least in the top three and was not happy about being put in the back especially behind the pony! With our weekend guide unaware of herd order and Martha’s inexperience with horses, her little gelding took full advantage of the situation.

We kept walking down the trail and I looked back to see Martha’s horse was reaching for mine’s hindquarters again so I threw my left arm in his direction before he could. I did this a couple times and that seemed to put an end to it, or maybe he and my horse were buddies and he was satisfied now. I looked back and asked Martha if she was ok and she replied, “Yeah I think so, he seems to be settling down now.” I wasn’t as savvy with horses then as I am now but I knew enough, and horses know that too. But only moments later our leader looked back at me and asked if we wanted to pick up the pace. Of course I was all for that, but as we started to trot, Martha’s horse darted to the left of the line and surged past me in a whirl. He then ran even faster past pony, most likely holding the bit in his teeth as horses will do some times, carrying a screaming Martha off down the trail. Our fearless leader took after her on little pony who was having a hard time running with all that weight on his back, but somehow managed to catch up to her while she kept pulling and screaming “Stop! Stop!” My horse and I were following right behind them and as our leader caught up to her, I watched in disbelief when as he reached up from pony to grab the runaway’s bridle, a loosened girth caused his saddle to slide off pony’s back spilling him to the ground! This of course only made Martha’s horse run even faster, staying on the trail, but breaking away from the group with Martha now frantically screaming and trying to stay on.

I slowed my horse a little as we caught up to our leader who was picking himself up off the ground, rattled, but ok. He waved his arm towards Martha signaling me onward so without stopping, my horse and I pursued the screams coming from up ahead. We were gaining on them so I leaned forward and gave my spirited little steed some heel and said “Come on boy you can do it, you can catch em!” And I believe my horse knew it was up to us as he pushed his nose forward and leaned into a faster pace. We were still on the wide dirt trail but headed right for its end into a thicker wood line. Both horses were at a dead run now and my adrenaline was pumping as we got closer and closer. Now side by side I could see tears running down Martha’s terrified face as she was pulling and screaming to no avail. I slid both reins into my right hand and with my left reached over and pulled back on her horses bridle while leaning back in my saddle and pulling back on my own reins to bring both horses to a stop about twenty feet before the line of trees. Martha immediately jumped off her horse so I dismounted and took the reins of both horses as she stood there shaking and sobbing. I walked over to her and put my arm around her for a minute and told her she was ok now and with a shaky voice she said “Oh thank you, thank you.” But as the others approached us, Renee and her friends dismounted to comfort her so I backed away and focused on the two horses. I praised and stroked and kissed my beautiful sweaty horse, “Good boy” I said “you did it!” I was so proud of my mount that he was quick and smart and got to be a hero that day.

That was enough excitement for one day! Martha was still very shaky but agreed to ride back on a different horse, so our leader tightened pony’s saddle, and traded horses with Martha who was now number two in line between me and our leader. The ride back was quiet and beautiful. I hated for it to end and afterwards I’m sure I was one of the last to leave the barn. Later that afternoon as I was sitting on my cot, I overheard Martha and Renee talking about what had just happened as they walked by. Then Martha turned, walked up to me and said; “Thank you for saving my life.” “You’re welcome” I said, “but I didn’t really save your life, you would have been alright I just did what anyone else would do.” “No” she insisted with a sincere look of gratitude in her eyes, “I thought I was going to die and you saved my life thank you.” She did not hug me as Renee looked on with a somewhat emotionless face and thirteen year old girls have their social rules, but I could feel her sincerity and knew that she looked at me differently now. We did not really become friends after that, but she was always nice to me and began to talk to me again. This horse story is not uncommon in the horse world, so I never felt like I actually saved her life. Many a cowboy and girl have a runaway horse story, but this one is unique in the fact that it would change both our lives. It taught Martha to see everything is not black and white, and it would give me an ally a couple of years later when I needed one.

Most unexpected events just a couple of years later found me lost and desperate in a runaway home: running from a web of lies, violence, and deceit with not much hope or desire to go home. Kids were only allowed to stay there safely and legally for up to two weeks, and then they must either go back home or move forward in the foster system. This was to insure that they had continual space for kids who needed help. I was desperately in need of some help. My two weeks were almost up and there was no resolution between my mother and me. She refused to remove the violent factor from our home life, so I refused to go home. My counselor told me that they thought they had a solution if I would agree to the terms.

I was skeptical but willing to try anywhere but home. I was taken to a large room with a long table and several chairs. My counselor and a judge and my mother were there and also a woman from our church whom I knew well… it was Martha’s mother. I could tell she was excited and a little nervous as she spoke to me and fidgeted in her seat, and then she asked me if I would like to come live with them. It would be a semi-official placement: my mother would give her legal guardianship of me, but it wouldn’t be a permanent foster home.

I was quite surprised and didn’t know what to think. This was certainly a better option for me than going home at the time. At least I knew this family and wouldn’t be living with complete strangers. I moved in with them, and Martha and I became “sisters” for a brief time. She was attending a private Christian school with her boyfriend while I was attending public school and vocational school. We still lead separate lives so to speak but we had some good talks. I poured out the bitter story of my betrayal to her one night, and I know she was one of the first to believe me. We had disagreements as well like all people who live together, but we did seem to put a patch on our “broken” friendship.

I was still a teen struggling with all I had been through and was still going through. Martha’s mother was also dealing with changes in her life besides me. Her boy’s were grown and gone and it had been just she, her husband, and Martha. Now she had a troubled teen on her hands. Not that I was ever violent or disobedient, but I had problems that no one recognized or knew what to do about. I spent about 6 months with Martha’s family before I was on the move again.

Mother’s mother sat down with me and cried as she told me she really wanted to help me, but I was becoming too taxing on her, and at this time in her life she just couldn’t have me live there anymore. When I asked her if it had anything to do with Martha she said, “No… Martha was the one who asked us if you could come live here in the first place.” Martha and I had never again talked about that day with the horses, but I knew at that moment she had in some way repaid me. It didn’t matter that things didn’t work out for whatever reasons; the horse story’s fate had fulfilled its destiny. We had rescued each other in turn when each needed help.

Martha and I live in different parts of the country now and it has been several years since I have seen her, but I know that we still hold a special place in each other’s hearts. The last time I saw her was sadly at a family funeral. We didn’t talk about the events of the past that tie us together, but sometimes it’s the unspoken things that mean the most. Unexpected events are often scary and painful, but if we hold onto our Belief… they may just unexpectedly reward us!

-Excerpted and revised from "The Private Wars" by Chris Hagy

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