The Heart of the Lone Wolf by Montgomery Mahaffey

be the death of you someday if you don’t learn to ride in this saddle.”
    He slapped the leather as he finished. Then he turned and opened the saddlebag strapped behind his leg, and pulled out a rolled up pair of breeches. The fabric was thick, just like the pants the stable boys wore.
    “You can wear these under your skirts,” he said. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
    He held the breeches out to me. I stared at the tightly rolled bundle in his hand, unable to move. Everything the Trainer suggested was unheard of, and just thinking about it terri fied me. But my skin tingled and the shiver climbing my spine was an unfamiliar pleasure. An image came to my mind of what would happen if we were caught, making my breath come in tiny puffs. Then I remembered what it was to soar and to fall, the ground rushing to me before I closed my eyes. I remembered hoping the pain wouldn’t be too much before my life was over.
    I took the pants. It was the first time in my life I disobeyed my father, and thus began the most blessed season of my life.
    I never knew how lonely I was until I made a friend. Whenever I remember the Trainer, he’s always riding the wild gray colt. I can still see his eyes sparkling when he laughed, his teeth brilliant against his tanned skin. I’ll never forget the guarded affection in his eyes when he looked at me, his fingers tickling my scalp when he ruf fled my hair. I can still feel myself soaring when he spun me through the air, holding me only by the arms. The Trainer gave me the only joy I ever knew in my life, and each day spent with him was pure euphoria. Sometimes I thought I would burst from the unbearable sweetness.
    I will never let go of the rumble of laughter from that time. It echoes inside me, hoping for another chance to savor that lightness of spirit again.
    As for learning to ride in a man’s saddle, I mastered it within a few days. Once I knew how much stronger I could be, it was torture to ride sidesaddle. As soon as we came to the Abandoned Valley, the Trainer would put his saddle on my mount and rode bareback, the lady’s saddle forgotten on the ground until it was time to go home.
    But the Trainer showed me much more. He taught me about freedom, all because I didn’t believe his stories. Every day he talked about his adventures, but I couldn’t fathom how he did such things because he had nothing. In response, he insisted I learn through experience how to live like a vagabond. Those lessons were the hardest I ever had. While I struggled to build a camp, to start a fire, and to hunt and fish, the Trainer did nothing but talk about traveling in the far parts of the world. He refused to help me until I apologized for doubting his word. A longing awakened in me that made my formal education with both the Duenna and Tutor intolerable.
    Appalled by the change in my demeanor towards them, my teachers united for the first time. They pleaded with my father to end this arrangement with the Trainer, claiming he was a terrible in fluence on me. They said I was becoming incorrigible, my manners almost wild. I scarcely paid attention and showed de fiance more than once, they stated.
    Papa gave them a hearing, and scolded me to respect my teachers at dinner that night.
    Then he allowed me to do as I pleased. Ironically, it was the Trainer who straightened me out.
    “Don’t think what they teach you is useless,” he said. “You’re very lucky to get so much learning. Do you think I know how to read and write?”
    His revelation made me ashamed. So although my day didn’t truly begin until I went to the stables, I became a conscientious pupil again and my teachers stopped complaining.
    But they weren’t the only ones who disapproved. Uncle came down from the
    northern countries just to confer with Papa about it. I was so nervous that I eavesdropped on their meeting and overheard Uncle insist that Papa was going too far this time.
    “A friendship like this,” Uncle said, “implies